Hidden Truth
by MajinSakuko
Summary: Complete! No Slash! Voldemort's finally defeated, but Snape can't remember what happened exactly. He decides to brew a potion to reclaim his memory ... and something utterly unexpected, too. Sequel: Tearing Apart
1. Darkness Creeps In

Title: Hidden Truth  
  
Part: 1. Darkness Creeps In  
  
Author: MajinSakuko  
  
E-Mail: MajinSakuko@yahoo.de  
  
Beta-Reader: Natara, kind of ^^  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing, JKR everything else  
  
Fandom: Harry Potter  
  
Pairing/Main-Chara: SS, HP, RW, HG/DM  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Genre/s: General, Drama, Angst  
  
Summary: Voldemort's finally defeated, but Snape can't remember what happened exactly. He decides to brew a potion to reclaim his memory ... and something utterly unexpected, too.  
  
-  
  
It was cold, too cold in fact, and there was too little space, even though it was enough, somehow. He couldn't tell anymore if it was really cold, for his senses were dulled to the point that he doubted he could feel anything at all. Even when he was awake he wasn't capable of differing between what should be cold and what was considered as hot. It was the same for him - there was no difference anymore.  
  
His mind was on full alert, albeit he was soundly asleep, trapped in his own nightmares - or were it memories? He couldn't know, he wasn't able to find out what he was dreaming about. Restlessly tossing and turning, he couldn't find any peace this night, like so many others before.  
  
All of a sudden, a sharp pain shot through him, starting behind his forehead and spreading throughout his whole body. Bolting up into a sitting position, shivering fiercely and glistering with sweat, his hands clenched around fistful of sheets in a vain attempt to regain his composure back. While his breathing stayed ragged, trembling fingers tentatively touched the scar on his forehead, at the very moment hidden behind a veil of black, dishevelled hair. Slowly the panting subsided and he was glad he hadn't cried out loud earlier.  
  
With a quick movement of his wrist, he illuminated a match to light a candle, he shoved the left sleeve of his nightshirt all the way to his elbow to reveal ...  
  
"Nothing ..." Severus couldn't hear the softly if not incredulously spoken word properly over the frantic pondering of his heart, which caused the blood in his ears to rustle deafening.  
  
Somehow mesmerized, the professor stared at his forearm, but even after endless minutes of intent looking, he couldn't make out anything other than skin too pale to be healthy covered with fine hairs, which were currently standing due to the chilly air - not that he recognized that.  
  
Still, Severus couldn't believe that it should be finally over, for good this time. The time of forced sub-ordinance at last ended. No need anymore for his abilities as a spy, for which he'd had to sacrifice so much.  
  
Severus snorted softly. It hadn't been too many sacrifices to become Dumbledore's spy, it had been his only possibility to rescue his ... What had he rescued anyway? His life? His sanity? His 'friends'? More likely his environment, more or less.  
  
But no more. He could scratch together what was left of his body, mind, heart and soul and try to go on, try to live a decent life for a change. Well, as decent as he could become, anyway.  
  
There wasn't anything left to worry about. Voldemort's terrible reign finally had come to a stop. It was there, the sign that confirmed his mingled thoughts, or more like the lack of said sign on his forearm.  
  
Absently rubbing the rather fresh scar on the left side of his forehead, Severus settled back into bed and blew out the candle to let the room get dark again. Knowing that sleep wouldn't come another time that night, he gazed unseeingly through the dark up at where the ceiling of his chambers should be and pondered on questions, where he still had to find the answers to.  
  
What did happen exactly those four nights ago? How had You'll-Soon-Forget-Who been finally defeated? What had he meant as he said, that he knew something important and that he, Snape, wouldn't get away as unscathed as he'd like?  
  
Neither he nor Potter could remember coherently - and these two had been the only surviving fighters, who'd been close enough to could have possibly seen anything significant. But where Severus wanted to know exactly who delivered the final blow to kill Voldemort, Harry couldn't care less. He was, in fact, utterly delighted, he couldn't tell what happened and due to the fact that his own fire-bolt scar had vanished shortly after, he hadn't any nightmares of the actions. A pleasant change.  
  
As Severus recalled the events of the final battle, he wasn't aware that the sun slowly crept in through the tiny windows to light the murky dungeons.  
  
The attack of Voldemort and his Death Eaters hadn't been totally surprising. The Dark Lord had given false information to the Potions Master and after figuring that out, Severus and the rest of the Order of the Phoenix had been sure that he'd been unmasked and that his service as a spy wasn't needed anymore. Being prepared and weeks on end on edge had payed off, eventually.  
  
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Harry lay sleeping, blissfully dreamless, in his bed in the Gryffindor boys' dorm and was oblivious to the world around him. His cheeks, though unseen behind the curtains of his four-poster bed, were dry. There weren't any tears left to cry. To cry for those he lost.  
  
Life wasn't fair, he'd been the first to know through experience. As far as he could think back, he had to endure the Dursleys and their mistreatment of him. But weren't they supposed to love him or at least care for him? They were family, after all, weren't they? It had taken a lot of time, but at last Harry understood what kind of 'family' they were to him.  
  
You could call it poetic justice, if you'd like. Funny, really, though he wasn't in the mood for it.  
  
Voldemort had managed to erase so many lives throughout his own life - even after he had died. If it weren't for his twisted mind, Harry would have admitted that He-Whose-Anniversary-Of-Death-Will-Be-Celebrated had been a brilliant man. He'd been a genius; a sadistic, gruesome, sick, cruel, bastard-like genius, but a genius nonetheless.  
  
At least, it had been quick for Poppy. The countless severely injured students, teachers and Aurors hadn't been as lucky. Many of them could have been rescued.  
  
Foolish Cho, dear Draco, poor Ron. Most people couldn't escape the devil twice.  
  
Or even once.  
  
Harry was truly alone now, no-one was left of his Merlin-damned family. It was so ironic, he couldn't stand it. He was finally in his seventh and last year at Hogwarts, after which he would stay in the magical world, he wouldn't have needed a guardian any longer, he would have been rid of the Dursleys ... now he was truly rid of them, wasn't he?  
  
But Harry wasn't that kind of person, he couldn't even wish Snape to oblivion, even if he tried - very hard.  
  
At least Harry had been able to prevent Voldemort from killing him in the end. And even though neither he nor Snape himself were sure how they had managed it, the boy was more than thankful to having forgotten. He had enough to deal with, after all.  
  
Now that his scar could have been removed, he was free, and nobody would recognize him anymore walking amidst groups of wizards and witches.  
  
All links and ties were cut.  
  
He was free.  
  
He was alone.  
  
He was afraid.  
  
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The hot water cascaded freely over his back and massaged softly the tense muscles. His hands pressed flat against the cool tiles, Severus leaned back and let the water wash away the weary expression on his face. He hadn't slept half of the night and it bothered him to no end that he couldn't figure out why.  
  
Wincing slightly, as he brushed the fresh scar on his forehead, Severus wondered how much longer he would have to endure it before he could remove it finally.  
  
He'd hoped that it could help him to retrieve his memory, but it hadn't worked. Even the Pensieve hadn't been a help. It seemed almost as if he were cursed - Severus snorted at the irony - it was obviously a curse, but he couldn't detect what kind and what its purpose was.  
  
And although Albus was seemingly unfazed by the lacks of coherent memory of both Harry and him, Severus couldn't shrug off the feeling of foreboding. Something wasn't right about him, obviously, but it sure as hell wasn't as secure as Albus would like it to be.  
  
As soon as he was out of the bathroom, he'd begin with his research. A little over a week was still left of the 'extraordinaire holidays', and that would be enough to brew the potion he needed. 


	2. The Fear Within

2. The Fear Within  
  
Harry awoke late and one quick glance towards the grandfather clock on the wall confirmed that he had to hurry or he'd miss lunch, too. The sun stood fairly high, confirming what he already knew, sending its rays through the window into the dormitory. There weren't any birds chirping; odd when you just awoke. But then again, maybe not that odd, considering the time - both of the clock and the year.  
  
Trying not to move too quickly, Harry wormed his way out of his bed and succeeded in not making his headache worse. Massaging his temples, he slipped his house-shoes on and tiptoed towards the bathroom, trying not to wake anyone else. His foggy mind registered finally that the 7th years boys' dorm was deserted, short of only himself ... His breath caught, as Harry's eyes came to a halt on the only other four-poster, which curtains were still closed. Trembling fingers reached out, faintly caressing the heavy cloth.  
  
"Ron," Harry whispered, as tears started to form in his eyes. "It wasn't your fault, you know ... How could you have known?"  
  
Briskly dubbing his eyes with his fingers, Harry readjusted his glasses and went straight to the bathroom. He filled the sink halfway with cold water and splashed it into his face. It helped a great deal to drive away the rest of sleepiness. Breathing evenly, Harry closed his eyes and tried to think of nothing at all, while he concentrated on his surroundings. The cool air around him, the smooth surface of the sink's edges he gripped with his fingers, the sound of his own drawing in of air.  
  
Finally, raising his head so he could see his reflection in the mirror, Harry scrutinized his facial features anew, which were still damp. He hadn't changed much, though he had lost a bit of his childish looks, his hair was as untameable as ever, his eyes - Harry's fingers clenched tighter around the enamel - were still the same shade of green as that damnable Avada Kedavra. His frown eased as he caught sight of his forehead, where he couldn't find any trace of his oh-so-famous lightening-bolt shaped scar.  
  
It happened at this very moment, that the surface of the mirror swirled, causing Harry to stare perplexed. As the motion subsided, the boy gasped and stumbled a few steps backwards, until he felt the wall behind him. The cool tiles of the wall sent the same amount of heat to his bones as the creature glaring at him through the mirror.  
  
Harry was positively paralysed as he gapped at the being, he'd thought he'd never again have the misfortune of seeing. "No," he whispered shakily. "You are ... dead. The scar is gone. You ... do not have ... power over me, not anymore ..." How could this be? Could he ...? No way! He was dead, for good, there was no way ... Snape's mark was gone. Voldemort couldn't have tricked them, could he? No. No!  
  
Harry's eyes widened considerably as the image of Voldemort drew away from him, seemingly into space behind the mirror, and gasped at the unfolded scene. Forceful huffs of air, almost visible in the bathroom - was it getting colder? - racing heartbeat. Harry trembled noticeable as the now exposed second person - which he recognized as none other than Hogwarts' Potions Master - drew his wand and pointed it at Voldemort. There were no sounds coming through the mirror and due to the fact that the persons as well as the environment were only black and white, one could have mistaken the scene as part of an old silent film. Harry couldn't make out where they possibly were, he couldn't recognize anything too far away from the centre of the mirror, for the farer away from the centre the blurrier the image got.  
  
Harry flinched as Snape cast a spell at Voldemort, without moving his lips. 'How could he-' He stopped mid-thought, as the prominent green curse erupted from the drawn wand. The whirl of light rotated slowly towards the Dark Wizard, while it stood out considerably from the dark background.  
  
Harry stared, unmoving, as Voldemort fell, twisting in agony. His mind was a tumult of confusing thoughts, making no sense at all. What was he witnessing? What did that mean? Why in that mirror? Was it real, at all? Voldemort was dead! Why should he see dead people? Besides those, he'd wanted to see.  
  
Drawing in a calming breath, he decided that he needed to see Dumbledore to inform him of this rather obscure occurrence. If there was even the slightest possibility that some, no matter how tiny, part of Voldemort had somehow survived, he needed to report it, so they could discuss the meaning of this. Harry's eyes were fixed on the now unmoving figure of the Dark Lord, lying at the feet of one obviously self-satisfied Severus Snape.  
  
"This can't be happening," the boy murmured desperately. Though he didn't want to believe that there was a chance that they hadn't succeeded in killing Voldemort, he couldn't calm his chaotic thoughts. What-ifs whirled around in his head in nothing resembling logical order.  
  
What would he do, if this short period of peace would be ended abruptly? How had Voldemort managed to survive? What did Snape had to do with it? Why was the scene on the mirror black and white, except only the bright green killing curse? How would Dumbledore react to this? How could - even though just this mirror - Snape be obviously stronger than Voldemort and hence defeat him? Did anything of that make sense, at all?  
  
Again, Harry was not prepared for the next occurrence.  
  
A loud 'bang' filled the bathroom as out of the mirror a large balloon appeared and exploded, letting loads of confetti and glitter rain upon the startled boy, who sat now in a heap on the floor. The colourful pieces of paper and magic settled slowly, covering both the floor-tiles and the sole occupant of the room with sparkling and glistering bits.  
  
Harry's mind was frozen in shock. What was happening? Had he finally gone mental? Did he only imagine the short movie in the mirror? And what about the confetti?  
  
A bright red envelope popped out of nowhere, hovering in the air, causing Harry to cringe slightly. Slowly the envelope floated into Harry's lap, as the boy followed its way with his eyes. Cautiously taking the letter in his hands, he undid the golden seal, a feeling of foreboding in the pit of his stomach. As he freed the piece of parchment from the envelope and began to read it, Harry's mien started to darken considerably. "Definitely a bad timing for your pranks, Fred and George," he growled lowly. Quiet plopping noises accompanied the now vanishing confetti pieces, and as Harry looked up, he could see that the mirror was back to normal. Only the parchment, still grasped in his hand, reminded that anything happened, at all.  
  
Exhaling, Harry re-read the short message.  
  
'Spider and Snake  
  
Real or Fake?  
  
Nightmare's over  
  
You may awake!'  
  
He stared at the words until they started blurring before his eyes. The letters re-arranged themselves and said now nothing more than 'Fear Within'. Harry snorted, shakily. Some jokes of the twins weren't funny, at least the ones one couldn't see coming at all - stupid time-spelling. Closing his eyes, he gathered himself together, let the water out of the sink and tucked the small parchment into his pyjama pocket.  
  
As it was already too late to attend lunch at the Great Hall, Harry dressed not too quickly, deciding that he would fetch something from the kitchens and eat the bunch (as it was now even more lunch than breakfast to being called brunch) in the dorm.  
  
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Bony fingers traced the line from his cheek towards the side of his mouth, sending chills through his whole body, as they grasped his chin abruptly, turning his face upwards to meet the icy gaze of the Dark Lord.  
  
"My Severus ..." the hissing voice cut like knives made of both ice and fire through his body, leaving nothing untouched. "What are you doing?" Voldemort's eyes burned with an intensity, no other living being could possibly dream to match. He was never satisfied by halves.  
  
"Nothing, Master." Snape's tone lacked every bit of superiority, he was so well-known for at Hogwarts. It was an act, an act so he could, maybe one more time, return to Hogwarts to be again the most hated teacher living. The balance was long lost. Severus was the subservient, obedient slave, nothing but faithful to his master. But whenever this master wasn't looking, he was Snape. Snape levelled it out, he was the conceited prick, who did everything within his power to make life for everyone, he wasn't fond of, a living hell and as difficult as possible. But why not? If he was doomed, why should all the others have something, he could never receive? Was that unfair? Well, it was Snape thinking.  
  
Voldemort allowed his lips to turn a bit upwards, forming a cruel little smile. It had been the wrong answer. There wasn't a right one when he wasn't in the right mood, never. "But you are breathing, aren't you?" He caressed the pale skin of Severus' cheek with the back of his other hand, staring deeply into the black orbs of nothingness, probing cautiously if he could dive into his mind. He wouldn't push it, he wouldn't dare. Daring his inferior to make the first move, to merely flinch, Voldemort continued stroking Severus' face in an almost loving manner. He'd been so pure, now he was contaminated by that awful contagious disease. Why did he have to lose the best Potions Master to the Light? It was so not fair. Well, at least he could be sure now, where his loyalties lay. 'Your fear, although almost undetectable, is utterly delicious, my dear Severus. The fear within ... it makes you so much more appealing, did you know? Be afraid, live the angst.'  
  
Carefully keeping his mind blank, Severus awaited his punishment, he was sure was to come. He wasn't one of the most intelligent wizards for nothing.  
  
"Crucio!"  
  
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Within a second, Snape startled awake, leaving his mind slightly dizzy, the nightmare still fresh in his memory. The scene had taken place not long before he had figured out that Voldemort knew of his spying on him. It was odd, though, that he dreamt about being tortured and not about himself torturing helpless Muggles. Oh well. Variety spiced up one's life, didn't it?  
  
He was still in his lab, dozens of tomes laying sprawled around in no recognizable order. Yawning, he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and weighed the importance of taking a bath; he couldn't afford losing any more time than absolutely necessary. His grumbling stomach reminded the Potions Master that he hadn't had a decent meal since ... his mind refused to tell, so it had to be some time.  
  
Snorting, Snape rose from his seat as he thought about how worried Albus had possibly been. Or maybe not, as he had surely enough else to worry about, at the moment.  
  
Finally, opting for taking a quick shower and ordering something from the kitchens, Snape began unbuttoning his clothes. His memories had to be dug out, he wouldn't be too happy being rescued by a Potter twice, after all.  
  
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Carefully balancing the heavy loaded tray, Harry walked over to the nightstand beside his bed. Dobby had given him everything from sausages, pancakes, ragout and different kinds of dessert. Tasting a piece of pancake, Harry nodded to himself, satisfied with the taste. His thumb was still in his mouth, as he turned towards the curtained bed beside his. Reaching out, he hesitated only seconds, before he drew the cloth to the side, flinching slightly at the sight before him. A heap of tangled limbs and blankets lay motionless amidst the mattress.  
  
"Ron?" he asked carefully. No answer was given, no answer had been expected. "Ron? You need to eat something, anything. I brought food from the kitchen. I even got two chocolate frogs. You want one?"  
  
"No." Had he ever sounded that defeated, that ... lifeless? Not that Harry could recall.  
  
"Please, Ron. Just one pancake, okay? Dobby gave me even some filled with cranberries ..." Tentatively Harry put one knee on Ron's bed and leaned forward, intent on touching the redhead's shoulder to turn him around to himself. But mere millimetres before he could make contact, Ron tensed and edged hurriedly away from him. "A half pancake? Or a few sausages? Ron, you must eat something ..." It cut deeply into Harry's heart to have to see his best friend in such a state. But what should he do? Nothing could be undone at this time.  
  
"No," he growled more fiercely.  
  
"Ron, you haven't eaten anything since yesterday - where you, too, did only scarcely. You can't simply stop eating, just because-"  
  
Harry never got the chance to finish his sentence, as in the next instance, Ron turned around in a flash and lunged at him, sending them both hurling to the ground and knocking the breath out of the Boy-Who-Lived-More-Than-Twice. "HOW DARE YOU?!" the redhead screamed, pummelling his friend, not caring if he'd hurt him severely. He'd always been stronger than Harry, and even now, as Harry didn't suffer from malnutrition anymore, he was superior, of which he took advantage of.  
  
Harry merely tried to block the blows he received, not caring to defend himself. It was only physical pain, anyway, and it confirmed that he was still alive. He knew it was hard for Ron, but he could only guess how hard it truly was. Losing a loved one, a family member, a sister. Harry had lost, that much was true, he'd lost every living family members by blood he'd had, in fact. But he hadn't had an emotional link with them. So he couldn't compare the situations.  
  
Ginny, however, was ... had been the sister of his best friend. Did that make her his sister, too?  
  
As the power left Ron's exhausted body, which was rather quick considering the lack of food, he collapsed, still on top of Harry. Clasping the sides of his robes, Ron buried his face in shirt and let lose of his pent-up emotions. Forceful sobs escaped his burning throat, he shuddered with the effort of staying calm. It was the first time since her death that anyone got a reaction out of him. Due to the temporary communication break-down in the entire Wizarding World, they were cut off. Nobody of his family knew, yet. "It's ... it's just ... not fair! She was so young! She was ..." Ron's sobs grew louder, silencing his words. 'She was too young ... I should have protected her ... as the big brother I had to be! She was too young, it should have been me instead ...'  
  
Rather awkwardly, Harry put his arms around his friend and held him close, letting him cry as long as he needed. Whispering soothing, meaningless words, he closed his eyes and succumbed to his own grief.  
  
-  
  
A/N: 'Happy Friday' is a German comedy show every, you guessed it, Friday. More times than not there are little parodies of Harry Potter (Crocodile Hunter is gorgeous, too). 


	3. More To Come

3. More To Come  
  
"How are you today? Any better? You look pale, you know. But then again, you avoid the sun on purpose. And yes, I do think that it suits you best, being all pale and sallow. Did I ever tell you ...?" Hermione sat in the magically enlarged infirmary. Before her lay the unresponsive figure of her not-so-secret-anymore boyfriend, Draco Malfoy. Hermione went on, talking softly.  
  
The hospital room was now more a hall even bigger than the Great Hall, occupying hundreds of sickbeds. Self-proclaimed nurses and doctors tried everything in their power to rescue all the lives still in danger. The sound was deafening. Moaning and groaning of injured, working provisory doctors and crying friends. Now and then there could be heard a screamed "NO!" when one didn't make it over the worst.  
  
Indeed, Hermione was one of the very few people talking quietly to their dear ones. She seemed oblivious to her surrounding, as she sat calmly. It was, as if there weren't numerous classmates and teachers dying all around her.  
  
"It's time for lunch, love," she spoke, smiling slightly. "I need to go, I already skipped breakfast and dinner yesterday, as you know. See you later." With that, Hermione rose from her seat and leaned over the bed to kiss her boyfriend goodbye. Little did she know, that she actually did so.  
  
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Lunch was differently at Hogwarts, as it was since the day Voldemort died. The meal itself was plain. The house-elves' duties were shifted to other tasks such as running errands for the hospital wing.  
  
Compared to how crowded the Great Hall was in general over the year, it now seemed pretty deserted. Very few students attended the meals at a regular basis, because it wasn't prescribed anymore. Headmaster Dumbledore had seen to that. Within ten days the wards would be finally down and life would resume its usual course.  
  
Many pupils wanted to stay by their hurt friends or help in the infirmary. Many pupils wanted to be alone, to deal with their pain as they saw fit. And many pupils just didn't want to be in company of someone else and be confronted with those who survived.  
  
But even if all the students would come down to the meals, they couldn't fill in the gaps. Gryffindor had lost the most; not that this had been a surprise. Closely followed by Slytherin (Even in that situation the rivalry was unbroken). A few students of this house had went over to the Dark Side. It came as a bigger surprise to the majority, though, that Draco had not been one of them. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw lost only a few - though, still too many.  
  
Snape ate his lunch in silence. In fact, there was not much conversation going on amongst neither teachers nor students. The whole hall seemed depressed, and given the circumstances, it was comprehensible. Concentrating on how to go on in making his special potion, Snape let his mind wander. He was more than pleased that tiny professor Flitwick succeeded in creating a charm that helped him a lot in potion-making. Without that charm he wouldn't be able to use even one minute of his time for research, he would have to brew potions non-stop for the hospital wing. With the help of Flitwick's charm, Snape was able to let the cauldrons work on their own - without supervision. True, Snape would never have willingly agreed to this help - had he been conscious at the time, that was.  
  
Stopping his little reverie, Snape returned to the more urgent matters. He had already sifted through his whole library and parts of the school collection, finding hints as to what he'd need to brew his potion. Inventing a new potion was always utterly thrilling, especially for one Severus Snape.  
  
'Harry Potter' A gentle voice whispered suddenly into his ear. Looking up, Snape quickly surveyed the Great Hall with a blank expression on his face, coming to rest on the Boy-Who-Lived, who was currently talking to those know-it-all and redhead friends of his. 'What are you plotting, you insufferable brat?' Snape asked himself silently. 'Haven't got enough fame and glory? Can't wait until the world is back to normal that your victory is blown out for everyone to hear?'  
  
As if sensing someone's eyes upon himself, Harry's head shot up and his eyes met with Snape's. Green locked with black and the glaring contest began. Snape noticed that both Granger and Weasley were now talking to Potter, casting quick glances in his direction; but that didn't disturb him. Lifting his left brow, Snape allowed himself a small smirk. The Potions Master was definitely nobody to be messed with.  
  
Angrily, Harry set his jaw and brought his attention back to his plate.  
  
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Harry, Ron and Hermione made their way towards the medical wing to visit their injured friends. The hallways were empty and somehow this made their little journey the more depressing.  
  
"Are you okay, Ron?" Hermione dared to ask. She hadn't seen him for days, after all, and at lunch he'd acted as if nothing had happened. She feared for her friend, feared for his mental state. A trauma - she knew from one of her smart books - was nothing to take lightly.  
  
Sighing, Ron shook his head. "I don't want to talk about it." Avoiding both of his friends' questioning gazes, he picked up his pace and strode along the corridor.  
  
"You can't run away forever, you know."  
  
"Oh, but I can and I already do," Ron murmured.  
  
Harry reached out with a comforting hand, but his friend brushed him off.  
  
"It's okay, Harry, Mione, really. I admit it was hard at first, but now I've come to terms with what happened. There's nothing to worry about for you. I'm fine."  
  
But Hermione wasn't convinced that easily. "You are not fine. A blind could see that. If you keep on locking away your emotions, it will kill you slowly from the inside. We all lost people we like and ..." she trailed off, thoughts of Draco lying in his own blood flashing through her mind. Quickly she stored them away. "We are here for you, Harry," she cast a quick glance towards the said boy, who nodded in return, "and me, no matter what. We may have our own things going on but your problems are our problems as well. You are our best friend and Ginny ... was as much ... my sister ..."  
  
"I DO NOT WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT!!"  
  
Hermione flinched violently at this outburst and Harry hurriedly assured their friend, that they would leave him be - for the time being.  
  
A few minutes later, the three friends arrived at the hospital wing and entered mutely. While Ron made his way towards the cabinet to offer his help and Hermione made a beeline in the direction where most likely her boyfriend was, Harry stood frozen to the spot, still in the doorway. He'd almost forgotten how bad it had been. In this medical chamber were definitely more people than a few minutes ago in the Great Hall. Harry watched as classmates comforted students from other houses (as they couldn't watch their own housemates suffer), working around their own grief. Just as Ron. The redhead was currently applying a new bandage to Pansy Parkinson's shoulder. Who would have guessed? So near her neck and he didn't even try to throttle her.  
  
Harry was still lost in thoughts as screaming voices reached his ear. Searching for the source, he saw Hermione, flailing and crying hysterically in the arms of one 5th year student, who tried in vain to comfort her.  
  
"No ..."  
  
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Severus stalked towards the headmaster and unceremoniously plopped down into a chair. "You wanted to speak with me?" he asked, after declining both tea and lemon drops.  
  
"How is the research for you memory potion progressing?"  
  
Severus stayed a few moments silent, wondering how on earth Albus was able to live up to his name. Sometimes he asked himself why Albus had needed a spy in the first place, as he knew everything going on, anyhow. "Excellent."  
  
Albus sighed wearily and folded his hands on the desk. "I can understand and I agree with you that claiming back what was lost, is highly important for you. But I have to ask you to hurry. The stocks of potion ingredients for the medical wing are drawing to a close and we will need every man to ensure ... that every student is going to live ..."  
  
Severus nodded curtly and rose from his seat. "It shouldn't take me more than sixteen hours. Headmaster." With that, he was gone, leaving behind a very old looking Albus Dumbledore.  
  
"Severus ..."  
  
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"W-why is it so dark?" The voice was nothing more than a frightened whisper, barely audible. A small figure sat in complete darkness in a rather old looking but comfortable armchair, shivering slightly. "Where ... am I? Mom? Dad?" she asked warily, squinting her eyes and looking from side to side. Unfortunately, she couldn't make out anything but black. Tucking her feet underneath her, she braced herself and rocked gently, trying to soothe her nerves, which were currently on over-drive.  
  
She couldn't remember what had happened. She didn't know how she'd ended up in this weird room, all alone. She could be anywhere, for all she knew. All she could recall, was being at Hogwarts and on her way towards the transfigurations class and then there was an attack by Voldemort and his fellow Death Eaters ... Everything else was nothing more than a blurry vision, which refused to be specified.  
  
A sudden spark of light shot threw the room and illuminated it for mere seconds. Red hair flashed for one heartbeat, as Ginny turned her head, intent on finding out where the source had been, but not daring to leave the sanctuary of her seemingly safe chair. "Hello? ... Who's there?" she called louder, then clamped her mouth shut suddenly. Maybe she didn't want to know. But now it was too late, anyway. Waiting with dreadful anticipation, Ginny surveyed her surroundings as good as she could, making as few sounds as possible.  
  
The light returned, causing Ginny to shadow her eyes in order to see anything. The room, she was in, looked faintly familiar. She must have been there, once, a while ago for sure. Raising her head, she gasped surprised.  
  
"Fred? George?"  
  
-  
  
A/N: 'Albus' means translated into German 'weiß' and that means both 'white' and (he) 'knows'. 


	4. Long Lost's Return

4. Long Lost's Return  
  
Hermione's crying had long ago subsided. Exhausted, she lay in front of the fire, curled into a tight ball. The savagely lashing red flames had an hypnotizing effect on her, as she stared unmoving. Their love had been just like the fire. Sometimes hot and untamed, other times more domesticated, but never dead. Hermione longed to reach out and feel for herself if the flames were still burning or if it was only her imagination that played dirty tricks on her. "I knew he'd die ..." she whispered softly.  
  
Harry's eyes flew open. He'd been sitting on the couch in the Common Room now for more than four hours, trying to provide some comfort to his friend. After Hermione's tears had ended, there was such a soothing silence in the room, that he hadn't wanted to move or lose a word, in fear of destroying the moment. Now that Hermione herself said the first words, Harry tried to urge her on with his gaze - though, she couldn't see that, as she stared into the fire and not into his direction.  
  
"I knew he'd die ... Even I couldn't help him. He had to die slowly and ... I am not even sure, if he felt any pain ... What am I good for ... for what do I ... read all those books ... for what do I learn all those ... spells and charms ... if I can't even help ..." Hermione's voice broke and she closed her eyes, wearily. "I'm just so tired ..."  
  
"What?!" Harry snapped and shot from the couch. "What are you saying? What are you implying here?" He couldn't get the tinge of fear out of his voice as he addressed his long time friend. She couldn't just say such things and get away with it!  
  
"I'm implying nothing. I was just saying that I am tired and I'm going to bed now." Hermione got off the ground and turned towards the stairs leading to the girls dorm. She felt as though all her energy had been sucked out of her, she felt so drained. And all she wanted to do right now was sleep.  
  
"Oh no!" Harry cried and blocked her way. "You are going nowhere until you said what you meant!" Gazing deeply into her eyes, he grabbed both of Hermione's arms, pressing his fingers a tad too deep into her flesh. She wasn't able to disguise her emotions very well, Harry could read her like an open book from the School Library. There was so much fear and hurt, so little hope left, that it cut deeply into his heart. "Please?"  
  
Hermione tried to smile, she didn't want to worry her friends. She embraced Harry around the waist and nestled her face in the crook of his neck. "I won't do anything rash. I promise." After a few more seconds, Hermione and Harry let go of each other and she took a step back. "Good night."  
  
"Night." Harry watched Hermione retreat to her dormitory. He sighed and made his way to his own bed.  
  
-+-+-+-  
  
"G-Ginny?" Fred stuttered slightly, his eyes as big as saucers. He exchanged a quick glance with George, who was clutching a rather big piece of cloth. "What are-"  
  
"-you doing-"  
  
"-in there?"  
  
"You know, it-"  
  
"-shouldn't be-"  
  
"-possible for any-"  
  
"-living being ..." Fred's voice petered out and he looked between his two siblings with an unknowing look, bewilderment clearly written on both of the twin's faces.  
  
Ginny's eyes filled with confused sadness. Everything seemed so big in comparison to her memories. She felt almost like Gulliver as he met the giants. This giants, though, were her own brothers. "I-I am ... dead?" she whispered, not able to comprehend what was happening. "But how?" She knew she had wanted to help. Even though she'd promised Ron not to fight, she'd sneaked away. They couldn't have killed her, could they?  
  
"Ginny, what happened?" George asked, tentatively.  
  
"I'm not sure ... There was an assault at Hogwarts ... You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters attacked and ... I don't know. I-I ..."  
  
"It's okay, Gin." George softly touched his forefinger to his sister's hair.  
  
"Something must have happened," Fred said, looking at his twin.  
  
"Something powerful that could-"  
  
"-send the entire Wizarding World-"  
  
"-into this state!"  
  
"What happened?" The twins looked at their sister and remembered that she didn't know anything.  
  
"There are spells everywhere! We can't leave the shop!"  
  
"And as it looks, nobody else can neither."  
  
"We were trying to determine when the spells lose their effect-"  
  
"-and it seems that we'll still be in here in a week or even more."  
  
Ginny's gaze veiled. The reality came crushing down onto her: she was dead, she was trapped. Well, at least she had two of her brothers to keep her company. "Fred? George? Um, could you ...?"  
  
"Sure ..." Gingerly, George picked up the painting of Ginny and put it onto the desk. Leaning against the wall, the girl had a better view of the room and hadn't to crane her neck so much, anymore.  
  
Ginny drew in a shaky breath. "You know, I'm glad that you insisted on buying me a magical portrait. Otherwise ... I wouldn't have the chance to see you again." Her eyes shimmered, but her smile was genuine.  
  
Fred nodded and George dabbed his eyes discreetly while muttering a "Yeah". If their joke shop hadn't been such a success, the twins wouldn't have dreamed of such an exclusive birthday present. But Ginny wouldn't celebrate birthdays no more, at least she wouldn't get older. In any case, the magical portrait was perfect.  
  
"Well," Ginny piped, trying to lighten the slightly depressive mood. "What new jokes have you two invented lately?"  
  
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"Still up?"  
  
Harry startled at hearing Ron's voice so suddenly. "Yeah. Hermione went to bed only a few minutes ago. I didn't want to leave her alone in the Common Room ... What about you? Why are you still up?"  
  
"Nothing important. I couldn't sleep. That's all." Ron rolled over in his bed and watched unmoved as Harry changed into his pyjama and got under his covers.  
  
"What's on your mind?" Harry couldn't get rid of the feeling that he mutated into some kind of psychiatric. Every person he knew could come to him with his or her problems, he took always care of them, tried to make them feel better. That was his therapy, at the same time. If he paid no mind to his worries, they didn't worry him so much, after all. Harry wasn't dumb, he knew that they wouldn't go away on their own accord, but he appreciated the time he could buy by delaying the confrontation.  
  
"Snape."  
  
"That's gross."  
  
But Ron didn't respond accordingly to Harry's attempted joke. "He's up to something. The way he looked at you during lunch today ..."  
  
"We had this glaring contests occasionally. Nothing out of the ordinary, if you ask me ..."  
  
"He'll kill you if he discovers that you saved him."  
  
"What?" Harry yelped surprised. "What are you talking about?" It wasn't as if there hadn't been anyone with that desire over the years. In fact, there had been too many. But after Voldemort's downfall, Harry'd suspected that he'd finally be able to live in relative peace.  
  
"Snape. I'm saying that if he finds out that a Potter saved his life not only once but twice, he'll kill you. And now that You-Know-Who is no more, he isn't any longer dependent on Dumbledore."  
  
"I can't follow you." Harry tried in vain to sound amused, his worry for his friend was evident in his voice. Ron had probably the most to cope with. But it just couldn't be that the redhead had gone mental - though, it certainly seemed so.  
  
"Ugh. Forget it. I just had too much time to think." Ron roughly rubbed his face. "How is Hermione?"  
  
-+-+-+-  
  
Carefully, Snape measured the crushed battle wings and put them into the steaming cauldron. The bright green steam vanished for a moment, as Snape stirred the potion three times counter clockwise, then erupted again. The green changed into a dark grey and grew thinner.  
  
As the Potions Master moved his wand above the cauldron to finish the potion, he got distracted by the soft voice whispering 'Ronald Weasley' into his ear, startling him somewhat. But fortunately he covered his slip, and nothing happened - well, nothing but what should happen, anyway.  
  
'What is that Boy-Who-Lived's sidekick now up to?' He wondered. 'Possibly roaming the school grounds already, taking advantage of the emergency case we currently have ... Stupid Golden Trio ... But I don't have time for them now.'  
  
The mist disappeared entirely and the colouring of the potion became a deep, impenetrable black. Snape actually had to look twice, he wasn't sure if there was indeed some concoction in the cauldron, for the potion reflected images from the cauldron itself.  
  
"Intriguing," Snape murmured, taking the pot from the fireplace and letting it cool off. After a few minutes he bottled up some vials and put them away safe of a single one which he kept in his hand. After a moment's hesitation, he drowned the potion. What could possibly happen? It wasn't as if he'd used anything dangerous in the making process.  
  
It took two full minutes, but then the effect kicked in. At first, Snape experienced only a slight tingle of magic crawling through his body, which wasn't too unusual. The slight spinning of his vision was unexpected, but nothing to worry about too much, as well. The fact that his mind shut down abruptly was something entirely different, and with a sickening thud, Snape collapsed, head first, amidst his laboratory.  
  
-+-+-+-  
  
Students were falling, there was screaming and curse shouting everywhere. Hogwarts seemed so cold and like a deadly castle. Icy winds hunted through the corridors, sending chills down Harry's spine.  
  
The war was just beginning.  
  
"How did they get through the wards?!" Snape yelled in the direction of the Boy-Who-Lived. This was just brilliant! No, the attack wasn't unexpected, but who would have guessed they'd make it through the wards? It was practically impossible.  
  
"How should I know?!" Harry yelled back, kicking a random Death Eater and then hexing him into oblivion. 'That's just bloody typical! Everything the slimy git can't explain, he wants me to make clear! Stupid prat!'  
  
"Look, what do we have here?"  
  
Harry froze in the middle of his next movement, the throbbing in his scar immediately multiplying. His vision was fixed on the inhuman creature of one Voldemort, everything else appeared to be nothing but a mere blur. The shouting around him slurred as the pain in his forehead became almost unbearable. He couldn't think straight anymore. What should he do? Which curse should he throw? Would it work, anyway? "How did you get through the wards?"  
  
Voldemort tilted his head to the side and smiled. "You led me. It's a shame, though, really. Such a waste of blood ..."  
  
"W-what ...?"  
  
"Those relatives of yours were very useful ..."  
  
Snape could feel the shudder of disgust creeping over his skin, watching You-Know-Who's eyes glow eerily. Where was that pet of his? Finally gotten rid of Wormtail? A sudden movement caught his eye, and he turned just in time to see the prominent rat running in his and Harry's direction. 'Sunken this low to actually attack from the back? Pity. This'd be how I would make it but the great Dark Lord?' Snape growled inaudible. This insufferable boy was really good for nothing. Didn't pay any mind to his surroundings. "Potter! If it isn't a task too difficult, turn around and get rid of that deceiving rat!" As the boy didn't react, Snape hurled a curse at him to rearrange his priorities.  
  
Harry flinched violently and snapped out off his frozen state of mind. He turned around and proceeded to hunt down the rat, which seemed now intent on escaping.  
  
Snape restrained himself from rolling his eyes in a very childish manner and stepped between Voldemort and Potter. He wasn't entirely sure what possessed him to try and protect that stupid child all the time. Hadn't enough people died already to ensure that he lived just a few more days? Oh well. At least, he wouldn't be rescued by the boy, no, if then it'd be the other way round. Two life debts were definitely too many.  
  
"If this isn't my favourite Potions Master and double spy in disguise ..." Voldemort hissed and reduced the distance between himself and Severus to roughly ten meters.  
  
Snape gritted his teeth as his mark started to burn. Not like he was being summoned, but much more intense. Starting under the skin where the Dark Mark was branded, then penetrating his bones and spreading throughout his whole body, making him feel like he burned from the inside out.  
  
"Why are you trying to protect the boy?" Voldemort chastised, making his wand ready. "You are going to die, slowly, but just after the boy. I was so disappointed to discover your deception. Crucio!"  
  
Anxious minutes of curse throwing led to numerous injuries, Voldemort getting better away. As the Dark Lord didn't want to use the Killing Curse, he had to just injure and stun his former Potions Master. If he thought that he already experienced torture, then Severus wouldn't know what hit him ...  
  
Snape's wand-arm trembled slightly and on his forehead glittered sweat, he was clearly at disadvantage. As he drew his right hand over his head to cast another curse, he discreetly flexed his cramping fingers, nearly letting his wand drop. "Damn," he cursed softly and held the wand tighter. Without it he would be lost. Lost ... Snape's eyes widened a fraction as a sudden thought formed in his mind. Maybe he could manage to distract You-Know-Who and if he could take his wand down, then he would be able to use his advantage.  
  
Snape concentrated his magic and let it flow through his arm. Two times his wand spat out sparks and stuttered, not unlike an old-timer having a backfire. He cursed more loudly and shot a calculated glance towards his perfectly functioning wand.  
  
"Well, Severus ..." Voldemort hissed, lowering his wand slowly, after he'd send another curse towards Snape, whose wand hadn't produced any counter curse. "Now it finally comes to an end. You should have known, that no man can serve two masters ..."  
  
"You were never my master," Snape spat through gritted teeth.  
  
"Tst, tst, but I recall you calling me 'Master'." Voldemort shook his head in mocking, pursing his cruel lips. "All those prophecies mean nothing ... Here I am, still living. You have cursed the boy who should kill me yourself, I'm not his first priority anymore. And you ... you aren't going to kill me either. I know you, my Severus ..." Snape shuddered inwardly at the possessive tone of his voice. "... I always knew you. You could call it morbid curiosity ... But now ... Prepare to die, my dear!"  
  
Two till now invisible spots of magic popped into existence.  
  
"You should have struck while your wand was hot." Snape smirked, as the two time-spelled arrows bumped into Voldemort's back, distracting him for a few seconds. Enough time for him to raise his wand and cast a spell, which caused Voldemort's wand to erupt in flames.  
  
The white skin of the Dark Lord bristled, while the wizard's face contorted in pain. He wouldn't let go. Without his wand he'd be helpless and the gleam in Severus' eyes told nothing good. Formerly, he'd loved it when that side in his Potions Master erupted, it witnessed his success. But standing at the receiving end was a tad uncomfortable. "You ... won't get away ... as unscarred as you would like ... You'll never be rid ... of me!" A fine layer of dust-like, invisible magic erupted from the burning wand and spread across the corridor.  
  
Not hesitating for another heartbeat, Snape cast the Avada Kedavra, for what he hoped the last time. "But I already am."  
  
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"Great," Snape grumbled, touching his anew bleeding forehead. "Why does this stupid floor has to be so bloody solid?" But his slightly gruff mood vanished as fast as it had appeared. His thin lips turned into a satisfied grin as he recalled the events he just remembered. It had been him! Harry Bloody Potter hadn't rescued the world from the Dark Lord but him! On a side-note he'd have to add that the Boy-Who-Needed-More-Than-Half-An-Hour-To-Defeat-A-Bloody-Rat had been a little (but definitely neglect-able) help.  
  
Picking himself from the ground, Snape decided he'd finally remove his scar. In the end, it had been definitely too easy, but Snape wasn't going to complain. Rescued by his most hated Potions Master, that'd be the perfect ammunition. 


	5. Just The Beginning

A/N: The suspense comes from the plot not from my style of writing. I know that you have to get used to it, and it seems often boring, but I can't help it. I'll try to enclose a bit more humour - dry humour, but humour nonetheless - to lighten up the tiresome writing.  
  
I want to give you the feeling of goose bumps, lethargy and suspense.  
  
-  
  
5. Just The Beginning  
  
Fortunately, Ron was still sound asleep, as Harry stumbled hastily to the floor. Water, he needed some water! What a nightmare! Voldemort and his Death Eaters killing his friends, his teachers, Snape being the one to defeat the Dark Lord.  
  
And the worst part was, it was true, it had truly happened ... Oh no.  
  
A few centimetres before he reached the door, he hesitated. No, he didn't want a repetition of the mysterious prank the twins had pulled. Thanks, but no, thanks. Harry opted for going down to the Common Room. He walked silently, as it was still way too early to actually be up, when one was in their right mind - which he wasn't.  
  
Not bothering to retrieve his bathrobe, Harry descended down the stairs. He made himself comfortable on the couch in front of the fire, which bristled peacefully.  
  
Harry leaned his head against the cushions and replayed the memories. For memories, they were, as he just knew that it had happened that way. The stupid git had cursed him! How dare he? Harry hadn't even known that a priority-shifting curse existed, but it sure was dangerous. Snape was just such a prat! What would he have done if he couldn't have beaten Voldemort by himself? He, Harry, couldn't have helped him. Snape just wanted to get the fame all for himself. He could have killed Voldemort with one hand on his back, for all Harry cared. 'And he said the word celebrity as an insult,' the boy snorted. How inconvenient must it have been for the Potions Master to lose the memory of his victory? What a pity. But then again, if Harry could now recall everything, maybe Snape could that, too. The boy rubbed his face wearily and afterwards crossed his arms in front of his chest, as he thought about how Snape would now act towards him. As if he wasn't already the biggest pain in the-  
  
Harry stopped mid-thought, as he heard a low rustling coming from his chest. Uncrossing his arms, he fingered his breast pocket and pulled the small parchment out. "The Fear Within," he read, recalling the scene he'd watched in the mirror. "Great." If his greatest fear was that Snape could defeat Voldemort without help of anyone, then there was seriously something wrong with him. Never had he been keen on the fame or being a damn celebrity, to begin with. Why would he envy Snape? Yes, the git would behave even more like the bastard he was, but Harry's last year at Hogwarts was soon over. There was no point.  
  
A cold breeze swept through the Common Room, causing the small fire to flicker dangerously. "Incendio," Harry murmured, pointing his wand towards the cracking fire. The flames grew abruptly and Harry stretched, enjoying the warmth.  
  
"Up already?"  
  
Harry nodded and moved up a bit to let Hermione sit beside him.  
  
"I couldn't sleep anymore," she said calmly, hugging a pillow to her chest. Unlike Harry, Hermione was already dressed in her school robes. "What is your excuse?"  
  
Harry closed his eyes for a heartbeat, before re-opening them, fixing his gaze on his friend's face. "I had a dream ..."  
  
Hermione managed a small smile. "And what was it about?"  
  
"Voldemort."  
  
She gasped at the suddenness of the word and of the use of You-Know-Who's name. "What? When? What did he do? What did he say? He can't be still alive, can he? Oh Merlin, you have to tell Dumbledore!"  
  
"Calm down, Mione, it was only a memory, but I don't know what triggered it." Harry discreetly put the parchment in the pocket of his pyjama bottoms, after running his hands through his unruly hair. "I already decided to tell Dumbledore, I just wanted to wait a bit. I'm not sure if he is already up ..."  
  
Hermione snorted at that. Dumbledore never slept, at least, it appeared that way. "You have to tell him as soon as possible! We don't know how important that dream of yours was, so we can't lose any time. Go on and get dressed, I'm coming, too."  
  
"Sorry, Mione, but I'd rather go alone, if you don't mind," Harry began, inwardly flinching at the look of rejection on his friend's face. "Look, I'll tell you everything afterwards, okay? But I don't want that when Ron wakes up that neither of us is here, you know? Maybe this is nothing serious, maybe it is, either way you and Ron are going to be the first ones after Dumbledore to know." He shot her a pleading look, trying to worm his way through her defences.  
  
Sighing, she gave up. "Okay. I'll wait here for Ron and if you aren't back on time, we are going to keep you a seat save at the breakfast table."  
  
"Thanks. You are the best," Harry grinned and he was gone with a cool whoosh of air.  
  
Hermione shook her head and reached for the book she had brought with her to read. Making herself more comfortable, she flipped through the pages, becoming oblivious to everything but The World Of Advanced Potions.  
  
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After he had donned on his school robes, Harry made his way quickly to the headmaster's office. The sun was still nowhere in sight, as it was still just half past five. Harry found himself praying that Dumbledore was already in his office, waiting for him, just as he always used to do when something important had occurred. And really, as Harry arrived at his destination, the stone gargoyle was already on the side and the entrance was revealed. As Harry made his way up the winded staircase he asked himself if it was a purpose that one had to feel dizzy after all those steps. He needed to tell Dumbledore something very important, after all.  
  
Harry knocked on the heavy oak door and opened it, after he heard the headmaster's voice biding him in.  
  
"Hello, Harry. Up so early? What can I do for you? Lemon drop?" Dumbledore asked in quick succession, his blue eyes twinkled merrily over the edge of his half-moon glasses. "Take a seat, boy."  
  
Harry sat down, but declined the sweet. "Uh, I had a dream this night ... Nothing prophetic!" he assured quickly, as the headmaster's gaze shot up. "It was merely a memory, but it was ... odd, I guess."  
  
"Go on."  
  
"It was about the day Voldemort died ... It was like a dam broke and suddenly I was flooded with pictures of all that happened. I don't really know what the cause was ..."  
  
Dumbledore nodded his head, the twinkle in his eyes intensifying. "Yes, Severus succeeded in brewing a new memory potion."  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
"Nothing, my boy, shall we watch your memory? With the help of the pensieve it would be easier for you. You wouldn't forget anything and you could comment the happenings. Shall we?"  
  
After the silver strands were put into the Pensieve Dumbledore and Harry began to watch the resurfaced memory, while the younger made comments. As Voldemort came into view, Harry visibly paled but refused to stop on his own accord.  
  
"Harry?" Dumbledore prodded gently. Something was soon going to happen in the memory, something Harry dreaded to relive again. He sighed wearily. He already knew, he'd already seen Severus' Pensieve after he'd had his memory back.  
  
"It's my fault ..." Harry whispered, staring at the still figures. 'The headmaster must have stopped the Pensieve' His mind absently noted. "He killed my relatives and with the help of my blood he somehow made it through the wards. Damn! Why did he have to say it? He could have died without me knowing that it was my blood that made it possible for him to get into Hogwarts in the first place ..."  
  
"Harry, you know that this is not true," Dumbledore assured, but Harry refused to meet his gaze. Instead he stared at his own image. He couldn't stand the look those people got ... Pity - when they knew how he really grew up, or anger that lurked underneath - when they played to understand. He wasn't going to risk seeing anything of that in Dumbledore's eyes. "Voldemort would have made it through the wards sooner or later."  
  
Against his better judgment, Harry whirled around and glared at his headmaster, though his anger was directed towards the one creature he loathed with his whole heart. "But he DID use me, nonetheless, didn't he?!" he nearly yelled. "I'm sick of being the brainless puppet people use and then disregard! My uncle did it, Fudge does it and even you did it! But Voldemort using me to get the chance to kill all those innocents is ..." Harry's voice petered out. He needed to breathe and calm down. This didn't lead to anything but red ears. His heart clenched as Dumbledore's sad look reminded him that he also used his doing in his argument. But that was not fair. Deep inside himself, Harry knew that Dumbledore's intentions were always pure, he never wanted something for himself, and he did everything for Harry's sake. "Sorry," he whispered, getting interested in the rug beneath his feet. "I didn't mean-"  
  
"It is alright."  
  
"No, it's not! Voldemort makes me so angry; I think I'm going to explode! ... But I didn't have the right to let it out on you. I apologize."  
  
"Very well," the headmaster smiled. "Let's go on watching the Pensieve, shall we?"  
  
The scene went on and Harry complained about being cursed by his Potions Master to hunt after a mere rat - even if this rat was Peter Pettigrew in his Animagus form.  
  
"I believe we have more pressing subjects?" was Dumbledore's sole comment. Then his eyes caught some faint movement, after Snape had cast the Killing Curse.  
  
The boy from the Pensieve scratched his ear and Harry commented absent-mindedly that he'd felt somewhat itchy. It wasn't a point he'd paid too much attention to.  
  
"There is the same glitter of magic as the first time," Dumbledore murmured, stroking his beard. This had to mean something. From this point of view he could clearly see that Harry had been affected. Severus had been too wound up to notice anything so minor.  
  
"Excuse me?" Harry asked. "This is the first time you watch my memory." How could he have seen it before?  
  
"Your memory, yes, but I already saw Professor Snape's."  
  
"His memory came back all of a sudden, too? That's odd ..."  
  
Dumbledore chuckled silently, refocusing his gaze on Harry. "No. Professor Snape actually brewed a memory potion for the sole reason to regain his memory of this night in question. It was rather odd that you got yours back so shortly after. But I believe this has the same reason as why you both lost your memory in the first place ..."  
  
"And what would that reason be?" Harry hoped silently that his headmaster would just answer his question. But there was one point that promised nothing good. The mad twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes - much like the mad gleam in some psycho's gaze - never meant anything good; even though the headmaster seemed to think so.  
  
"Before I tell you, you have to know that the following information is to 100% of theoretical nature. I believe it would be better if you would keep it to you ..."  
  
'Which means: Don't tell Ron and Hermione before I say so' Harry thought bitterly. Thinking of the two of them always made his heart ache these days. They were his best friends, true, and he didn't want to lose them. Would their friendship survive? Or would it die as slowly as the students still in the medical wing? Harry wasn't sure if they really coped well enough with the happenings or if they just made up appearances for the sake of him. Keeping secrets from them - after he'd told Hermione explicit that he'd tell her and Ron everything - wouldn't be the best option. He stopped suddenly as he became aware that Dumbledore wasn't talking anymore. Redirecting his gaze, which had somehow ventured aimlessly through the office, Harry winced guiltily at the grave look the headmaster shot him. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to tune you out ... It's just Ron and Hermione ..."  
  
Dumbledore's expression became immediately much gentler. Compassion swung in his voice as he told Harry he needed not to be concerned too much about his friends. "Mr. Weasley will be fine. And Ms. Granger ... I believe she will not be in need of your worry for much longer, either."  
  
Harry's left brow rose confused at what the headmaster meant with that last statement. But Dumbledore obviously didn't want to elaborate any further and hence opted to ignore the boy who sat vis-à-vis by pouring two cups of tea. He put one steaming cup in front of Harry and smiled broadly, causing Harry's feeling of unease to deepen. There it was again! This damn twinkle that indicated Dumbledore knew something he didn't. It was frustrating to have a conversation with someone who could most likely know everything but told you almost nothing. Scowling, Harry rubbed his temples.  
  
"Is there something wrong, boy?" Dumbledore asked, instantly taking hold of a box of lemon drops, hidden in one of his robe pockets. The sweets were his number one problem solvers.  
  
"Just a headache, Sir." Harry reached for the mug and took a cautiously sip. "Green tea with ..." Another sip. "... lemon grass. A new sort?"  
  
Dumbledore shook his head, sighing. This boy was too stubborn for his own good. He always tried to distract people around him and didn't want to worry them. This once he'd get away with it. "Let us head back to the topic, shall we?" At Harry's affirmative nod, Dumbledore went on. "We still don't know WHY Voldemort erased the memory of both you and Professor Snape. As far as I could see there was nothing out of the ordinary in your Pensieve ..."  
  
"Except that Voldemort didn't say any incantation to cast the spell."  
  
"Yes. Well, about his purpose-"  
  
"I don't think it was on purpose!" Harry interrupted. "Why should Voldemort merely delete our memory? Giving me this headache would have been more likely ..." Harry shook his head. This idea had already popped into his mind, but he doubted that You-Know-Who would try to end his life by giving him a headache. Although it was more painful than your average headache, Harry would survive it. It was likely that it was just a side effect to the magic which caused his memory to vanish ... "Could it have been an accident? I mean his wand was on fire. Does a wand work properly under this circumstance?"  
  
Dumbledore took a sip of his tea as he played the idea through his head. "Yes. That is a possibility. I haven't thought of it yet and as Voldemort's wand was destroyed there is no way to test it."  
  
Harry shrugged nonchalantly. "It's not important now, anyway. He deleted our memory, by accident or not, but we've got it back." He smiled and emptied his cup of tea. 'Too bad it didn't work, huh?'  
  
Dumbledore's mien, though, stayed serious. "There is still the question why you regained your memory so shortly after Professor Snape took his potion. I doubt you tested it, too?"  
  
Harry's mood sank instantly. "No."  
  
"It could be possible that the two of you not only lost your memory through this magical dust we saw in your Pensieve and which you felt, but it may be also responsible for getting it back. That means there could have been built a link between yourself and Professor Snape. I never heard of such magic, though ..."  
  
Harry suppressed a disgusted sound. Linked with his least favourite Potions Master? That would be more his greatest fear than ...  
  
"Oh! There is something more."  
  
"Indeed? Very well, go on, Harry."  
  
He pulled the parchment from his pocket and handed it to the headmaster. "Yesterday I thought I had a vision in the mirror in the dorm's bathroom, but then it appeared it was only a prank from George and Fred, so I forgot about it."  
  
"The Fear Within," Dumbledore mumbled, the twinkling reduced to mere sparks. "What did you see, Harry?"  
  
"Voldemort," Harry began, Dumbledore's mien turned into one of dead seriousness. "At first I thought he was back, I was shocked. But then I realized it wasn't a vision but more like a movie ... It was somehow like the memory of his death. Professor Snape was there, too, and he killed Voldemort with an Avada Kedavra. I was paralysed and I wanted to tell you, but then suddenly there was confetti everywhere and this parchment appeared ... I thought it was only a prank, but now I'm not so sure anymore ..." his voice petered out. He restlessly shifted in his chair, the eerie calmness in the room too much for his nerves. "Headmaster?"  
  
"Yes." Dumbledore snapped back into the present. "Did Voldemort say anything? Did he try to communicate with you?"  
  
"No ..."  
  
"Hm ... what do you think does this 'Fear Within' mean?"  
  
"I dunno. I mean, it's not as if I wanted to kill Voldemort ... I am somehow relieved now that I didn't have to do it. I-I ... I'm really confused and I don't know why this should be something I am afraid of ..."  
  
Dumbledore nodded, stroking his long, white beard.  
  
"Ehm, Headmaster?" Harry asked tentatively. He was relieved that as Dumbledore fixed his gaze upon himself the twinkling seemed to have come back, at least a bit of it. "About this 'link' you said Professor Snape and I could share ... I'd rather him not knowing, is that okay?" The last he needed was that he had something, anything, in common with his greasy Potions Master. But a link was even worse.  
  
"Why is that, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, now popping a lemon drop into his mouth.  
  
"Uh ... I believe he has enough to cope with at the moment, like everybody else. And having a link with me ... I don't know how he will react to that. He isn't really that fond of me, you know? It was also just this one time that I had the same memory coming back ... I think that he won't need the potion in the future ... So there will be no need to tell him. If there are other occurrences I'll immediately tell you, of course!" Harry rushed to explain. Dumbledore's wide smile caused his brows to crease a bit, disturbed. Why was it that the headmaster had to smile at him being uncomfortable?  
  
"Very well. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a bit more work to finish. And I believe Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley are already waiting for you in the Great Hall."  
  
-+-+-+-  
  
The hot shower did his magic to soothe his aching muscles, but not that literally. Snape was positively relieved that he'd at least had four hours straight of sleep. It wasn't something he was too accustomed to, nursing others in any other form than merely making medical potions. The last day, he would have sworn that his wand would start to smoke; he had used it so much. He still couldn't believe how little progress they had made. Without the additional help of the potions, there wasn't much they could do to help reduce the pain. At this point, Severus was almost rueful that he'd treated Poppy the way he always had. He hadn't known how much work it really was and how emotionally enervating. Watching his own students struggling for their lives ...  
  
Closing his eyes, he let the water run over his face and wash everything away. It wouldn't be good to let anyone see how much it affected him in a way he wouldn't have thought was still possible.  
  
Shaking his thoroughly soaked hair, Snape reached for the shampoo bottle and studied it for a moment. As if he would never wash his hair, really. He had truly other problems than that. Come to think of it, no. No, actually he hadn't problems, REAL problems, anymore. He felt so empty, like after finishing a great task and the whole adrenaline wasn't spent yet but there wasn't anything else to do. Now he was the Potions Master. No more a order member. No more a spy. No more a Death Eater. Just a Potions Master. It wasn't enough. What should he do with his time? What could he possibly do? He was far too old to do anything new, he knew. He desperately needed something to occupy himself with, something thrilling, otherwise-  
  
'Albus Dumbledore,' the soft voice whispered into his ear, causing his fingers to tighten around the shampoo bottle. What could the headmaster possibly talk about him behind his back? And, more importantly, with whom did he speak? All those years had left him extremely suspicious. Never could the old wizard hold his nose out of things he had no business with. And while one part of Severus had always been grateful that Albus was the one person, who seemed to know everything and to who he could ever turn to when he had a problem, the other part of him couldn't help but be angry. Angry that Albus obviously never made a mistake, angry that Albus knew better than himself how to live his life, angry that Albus was his friend.  
  
For Severus knew too well that he didn't deserve a friend, such a friend, even if it was only a single one.  
  
Gritting his teeth determined, Severus finally unstopped the bottle and squeezed some shampoo onto his left palm. But not much of the soapy substance made it, as his grip suddenly loosened and the bottle fell forgotten to the shower ground with a clear 'bang'. A strangled gasp escaped his mouth as he stared in horror at the hideous skull and the winded snake; the Dark Mark was back.  
  
"Merlin, no," he whispered, rubbing his eyes with the back of his right hand. "I'm just seeing things. Nothing amazing there ..." He couldn't have lost it. No way. He'd lived through so many years of hell and had kept a decent amount of his sanity - even if his students thought otherwise. They were just so naïve, it was almost heart-rending, they didn't even know a whole fragment of the truth.  
  
Opening his eyes again, Snape once again was greeted by the sight of the loathed mark. Even if he'd just thought that his life could take a bit more action, he hadn't thought about that exactly. Snape's fingers clenched into a tight fist as his head started to pound mercilessly. He tucked at a handful of damp hair, but the pain only intensified.  
  
He needed to get to Albus. This couldn't be normal. 'How convenient,' his mind drawled. "Shut up ..." Severus reached out and turned the water off, never leaving the mark out of his sight. It could still just be a hallucination, right? And the next incident should confirm this suspicion.  
  
Snape cried out in terror and jumped back, colliding with the hard tiles, as the ugly snake on his forearm suddenly slithered through one eye of the skull and made its way up his arm. It snaked across his shoulder, down his back and back over his hip, leaving a trail of ice-cold skin turning into goose bumps. On his chest it curled into a lazy ball and seemingly raised its head to hiss at Severus, who was currently at a paralysed loss as to what to do. Never really being attacked by a tattoo did that to someone.  
  
As unexpected as it had begun, as fast it ended. One second the snake threatened him with its dangerously glittering fangs, the next second it was gone. Without any trace of evidence that it ever had been there in the first place.  
  
Snape dried himself as quickly as he could, his mind swirling frantically to come up with the most logical explanation. This couldn't have been a prank; no student of this entire school would be stupid enough to pull such a prank on him. No student of this entire school who wanted to live through his next birthday, that was. Shrugging into his robes, Severus thought of how Voldemort had said, that he'd never be rid of him. Could he have managed a final curse to drive him crazy? It sure looked that way, didn't it? Snape snickered quietly. He had to put the blame on himself. 


	6. Getting In Touch

6. Getting In Touch  
  
Snape strolled purposely to Dumbledore's office. His intimidating robes billowed around his lanky body, as he skidded to a halt, the "Toffifee" already on the tip of his tongue. But before Snape got his chance to utter the password, the stone gargoyle awakened and jumped aside. The uncanny encounter with the Dark Mark this very morning wasn't fully digested yet and left the Potions Master's response time a bit rusty. He didn't react on time to avoid the collision with one hurrying student, who he then identified as his least favourite Gryffindor.  
  
"Potter!" he snarled and smirked inwardly as the boy blanched and hastily retreated back into the small room with the staircase.  
  
Harry eyed the only door to his escape longingly. "P-Professor Snape," he stuttered, looking up at the towering figure of his potions professor. His luck, indeed, that he had to crash into the one person he'd tried to avoid. Not that he ever sought the man's presence, but at this time it was even more not wanted.  
  
Snape's scowl deepened - if that was even possible. 'Professor' was it? What was the boy up to? Or had he finally learnt some manners? 'Nah, impossible, after all, he's the Celebrity-Who-Lived-To,' at this point, an evil glint crept into Snape's eyes, causing Harry's feeling of discomfort to quadruple, 'Be-Rescued-By-Me.' It was great ammunition, indeed, but nothing to blow too hastily. "Why do you have to grace me with the misfortune of meeting you? First thing in the morning, no less?" Snape snarled.  
  
Harry frowned indignantly. "It's not as if I had planned this to-"  
  
"Then you should better watch where you're going!" the Potions Master interrupted the boy. "For the next time - which I believe you are going to try to avoid at all costs - you dare 'bumping' into me when your obviously not exactly bright mind is occupied elsewhere, I will see to it that you are once and for all expelled from Hogwarts! Invading the personal space of one of your professors ... you should know better, Potter!"  
  
Harry growled inwardly at the look of pure smug on Snape's face. "Believe me, Professor," he sneered. "The thought of invading your 'personal space' never occurred to me ..."  
  
"Insolent brat! Out of my sight!"  
  
Harry complied happily and hurried away, but he still heard Snape's last comment which dampened his victory a bit.  
  
"And that would be 20 points from Gryffindor for your disrespect!"  
  
Seething, Snape made his way up the staircase. As if it wasn't enough to almost having a heart attack due to the damn Dark Mark. Potter on an empty stomach was difficult to digest. Pushing these thoughts aside, he lifted his right hand to knock on the headmaster's door, as it suddenly opened.  
  
"Oh, good morning, Severus!" Albus greeted cheerily, waving his Potions Master inside. "I was just going to see you."  
  
As if. If Snape were to ask now, Dumbledore wouldn't have a believable answer as to why he was about to visit him. Snape lowered his hand again and entered the office.  
  
"Why don't you take a seat while I'm pouring us some tea?"  
  
Snape plopped into the most uncomfortable chair available. He didn't plan on making this meeting long.  
  
After the usual exchange of lemon drop offering and declining, Dumbledore sat down behind his desk. "What leads you to me? Something pleasant I hope?"  
  
"I fear, no. This isn't a courtesy call." As if the sourly man ever paid courtesy calls. "But first off, what business did you have to discuss with Potter about me?"  
  
"Excuse me?" Albus wore his best innocent look.  
  
But this angered Severus only more. "You know exactly what I mean. You are not the only one with possibilities to know what is going on behind your back."  
  
Albus sighed. "We didn't really talk about you. Harry had ... some matters to discuss with me. You were part of, but nothing essential."  
  
"Is that so?" Snape's hands clenched into fists, "So why, pray tell, didn't you want me to know you were talking to Potter? You did it on purpose to mention my name first so I wouldn't know with whom you are speaking, didn't you?!"  
  
"I did no such thing," Dumbledore assured, the twinkle in his eyes belied his seriousness. "How should I have known that you are capable of telling when someone starts a conversation uttering your name?"  
  
"This sentence is prove enough," Snape growled through gritted teeth. How did they say again? While talking was silver, silence was golden. Then Albus had to be power or platinum in this case.  
  
Albus positively beamed. "How did you learn it? I've never heard of such an ability!" His excitement shone through clearly.  
  
"It's a gift," Severus said curtly.  
  
"From whom?"  
  
"That's none of your bloody business!" Snape snapped, but cooled down immediately. "I'm ... sorry. I'm a bit on edge at the moment, Albus."  
  
"So I have noticed. Tell me, why did you come in the first place?"  
  
"The Dark Mark ... it was back."  
  
If Albus was surprised, he concealed it very good. "Hmm," he merely said, encouraging his friend to go on.  
  
"This morning, I was just ... taking a shower as all of a sudden the mark was back. It was as if it never had been removed ..."  
  
"Did you feel something? Did it burn?"  
  
"No, but ... I wasn't sure if it really happened. After all, it disappeared shortly after ..."  
  
"What happened after it appeared, Severus?" Albus prodded gently. He knew he mustn't push his Potions Master too much or he'd just leave.  
  
"It ... moved." Snape's gaze fixed itself on his cooling tea.  
  
"It moved?"  
  
Snape sighed, exasperated. "The snake of the mark! It slithered across my skin and hissed at me!"  
  
"Intriguing."  
  
"I wouldn't have used this term," Severus snorted. "I wouldn't be sure if it wasn't just my imagination, if I hadn't felt where it had snaked across."  
  
Albus' expression became even graver. Could it be that this was the greatest fear of Snape? Getting his mark of ownership back, unsure if the Dark Lord had returned also? Was it likely that this possible link between Severus and Harry worked in both directions? But maybe this incident was just a wanted side effect of the magic Voldemort had fired upon the two. If that was the case, Albus didn't have to tell his Potions Master about the possible link. He didn't want to break his word, and he wouldn't do it either. "I will think about it," he said finally. "If there are more such occurrences, don't hesitate to inform me."  
  
"Certainly," Severus said tersely, rising from his seat. "Headmaster." After this, he made his way to the door and left.  
  
----  
  
As it was still pretty early, there weren't many students in the Great Hall to have their breakfast yet. Harry, Ron and Hermione sat at the end of the Gryffindor table, where they could talk without anyone overhearing them.  
  
"So, what did happen in this vision and what did Dumbledore say?" Trust Hermione to get straight to the point.  
  
Harry sighed and started to explain to them what he had seen in the mirror and that he had received his memory back, deliberately leaving out the part about possibly sharing a link with Snape.  
  
Ron only listened with one ear; he couldn't bring himself to be again his former self. Having his sister be killed, he feared the wrath of his mother. Most of his thoughts were about his family, and he didn't even gave so much as a snort as Harry told them that Snape had hexed himself to race after the Pettigrew rat.  
  
Harry pulled his cloak tighter around himself. "Pretty cold, isn't it?" He could almost see his breath in the air.  
  
Ron merely grunted, affirming.  
  
Hermione stared across the room, trying to make sense of what Harry had told her. Why should he get his memory back, just like that? She couldn't get rid of the nagging feeling that he hadn't revealed everything to her. For the time being, though, she could live with it. A cool breeze swished past her, causing her hackles to stand on end. Rubbing her right arm with her left hand, she reached for the cup of tea in front of her. Thank Merlin it wasn't chilled pumpkin juice. But it wasn't the warm mug that touched her lips. Hermione cried out in shock as something ice-cold brushed her lips, sending her flying to the floor; her mug shattering to pieces, wetting her with the sage tea.  
  
Harry and Ron, despite his earlier lethargy, were on their feet immediately, helping their friend from the floor. "What was that, Mione?"  
  
The girl trembled slightly, refusing to sit down at her seat again. "I don't know ..." she murmured.  
  
"Why were you on the floor, then?" Harry asked, coaxing his friend to sit down again. Fortunately, their little mishap had gone by unnoticed.  
  
"A gust of wind, I guess. There must be a opening in the room somewhere, I can feel a draught ..." Hermione rubbed her hands awkwardly and resumed her eating.  
  
"Uh, shall I?" Ron asked, pointing towards her slightly wet robes.  
  
"Oh." Hermione cast a quick drying spell and let the broken cup vanish from the floor. As she noticed that the boys still weren't eating, she tried to assure them that she was alright. "It was just a cold gust, okay? I overreacted. Now eat up. I'm planning to visit the library later on. I'd like to figure out how Voldemort managed to set up all those wards to trap us in here."  
  
This got a rise out of Harry and mostly of Ron, who groaned loudly. "No! We have no lessons, why should we go into the library?"  
  
"Because it is always good to learn something - especially something that isn't in the curriculum. And it will get our minds onto other things. Are you going to come?" 


	7. When Losing You

7. When Losing You  
  
Hermione, Harry and Ron were making their way out of the Great Hall, as the girl suddenly stopped dead in her tracks. The boys nearly bumped into her, but she didn't notice it, turning around. "I nearly forgot!" she exclaimed, slapping her forehead with her flat hand. "Headmaster Dumbledore told me that we should visit the infirmary every two days, starting today. It seems that Professor Flitwick has created a combination of a draining charm and something resembling a storing charm ... Though, I wonder how he ..." As it was typical, Hermione got sidetrack by her fascination of the creation of new and unseen charms. But as it was neither the place nor the time, Harry brought her back to earth. "Yes, sorry," she said, sheepishly. "What I was saying was that the headmaster wants us to 'donate' some of our magic."  
  
"Our magic?" Ron intervened. "But our magic is essential to us! We can't do anything without it! We'd be vulnerable to ..."  
  
"We don't have to fight anymore, Ron," Hermione reminded him, gently. Voldemort was dead and all of his follow Death Eater that had attacked Hogwarts. "And it is not that we lose our magic forever. It would re-grow in a two days time. And these wards I was trying to find out about are going to remain still for around a week. There is no need to worry. Voldemort himself saw to that." She snorted at the irony. But then again, if it wasn't for Voldemort, they wouldn't have to give parts of their magic, leaving them exposed.  
  
"For what does Dumbledore need our magic?" Harry asked.  
  
"Oh, he and the other professors are going to use it to 'feed' it to the wounded students. Hopefully it will help to nurse them back. Though, I don't really know how this is even possible." But that would have to wait, as the wards were a more pressing matter to find out about. "The advantage of this is, of course, that we can be wherever we want to be ... I wouldn't feel all too good to not do anything for my schoolmates ..." Hermione turned abruptly, rubbing her eyes secretly.  
  
----  
  
Molly Weasley didn't try in the least to keep her crying down. She was alone in the Burrow, her children abroad, in their shop or ... at Hogwarts. No one was there to be bothered by her wailing, but that meant that there wasn't anybody to comfort her, either. The tears pouring down her cheeks didn't want to stop, her vocal cords hurt from the constant crying. Only little Pig flew around his owner, trying in vain to soothe her. The mood of the normally so hyper owl was dampened considerably; he couldn't do anything at all. Molly kept on crying, not hearing the unnaturally soft hooting of Pigwidgeon. Only as shrill ringing sounds added to the hooting, did Molly stop her wailing long enough to let a bit sense back into her mind. The ringing had to be the strange Muggle apparatus with which one could talk to someone over great distances. 'Deli phone' or something that sounded similar.  
  
----  
  
Arthur Weasley waited anxiously for his wife to pick up the phone, urging her on mentally. It had taken him long enough to re-load his Muggle device. Sometimes magic had its advantages, Muggle things went out of energy far too quickly, and in situations far too inappropriate. But Arthur didn't curse the telephone, for it was the only possibility to contact Molly and inform her of the latest events that had taken place at the Ministry of Magic. He knew that she must be going crazy with fear not knowing what was happening. Wincing slightly, as he moved his injured arm, Arthur shifted uncomfortably in his armchair. With each passing second that Molly hadn't answered the phone, he became more nervous. What if something had happened to her? What if they had attacked the Burrow, too? Though, they were pure blooded, that didn't have to mean they were secure, as You-Know-Who had known long ago that the Weasleys were 'Muggle lovers' as the Dark Lord so nicely put it. Arthur shuddered at the thought of the red-eyed monster and his minions.  
  
The Death Eater attack had come as a total surprise, as Snape had been forced to give up his spying. And the Potions Master had been their sole source, more or less, of the on-goings of the Dark Side. Voldemort's followers had assaulted the ministry out of the blue, the employees totally unprepared. Well, as unprepared as one could be in the given times. There had been many casualties, as it was not unusual in wars. Arthur still thanked every listening deity that Charlie and Bill were still abroad and that Percy - as much a nuisance he could be, he was still his son - was merely injured. The same couldn't be said for Fudge, though. Arthur mused who would be elected the new minister, but shoved these thoughts aside, as they were not necessary at this very moment.  
  
The ringing went on, Molly hadn't picked up the phone yet. Arthur became even more uncomfortable. Hopefully his wife was at home and just couldn't find the device, or she had forgotten which button to press ... Anything.  
  
You-Know-Who was a born strategist Arthur had to admit. The distraction his followers had pulled was ingenious. And this special charm the Death Eaters had used, which resembled this Muggle 'Makro' thing, was ingenious in itself, as well. They had just to utter the right warding spells and they reproduced themselves exponentially. It was the work of a downright genius, and if it hadn't been Voldemort himself, Arthur would have sworn it was Hermione's idea. The Death Eaters didn't have to use any precious hours of spelling and warding, they just had to say each phrase once and they were ready. Ready to trap the whole British Wizarding World in their houses, without the prospect of escape in the near future. How they had managed it, in the first place, was beyond Arthur. What happened to people who weren't in their houses as the spells were activated, he did not know, but he'd rather know that his wife was inside the Burrow, than to start speculating what had happened otherwise.  
  
As the now annoying tone of the vacant telephone line went on, Arthur began to draw the darkest scenarios in his head. "Come on, Molly, dear!" he urged and finally his bidding was heard.  
  
"A-Arthur?" the voice of Molly Weasley asked, oddly timidly. And why did she sound so strangely hoarse? Had she been crying? "Sniff." Why was she crying?! Forgetting all about why he had called her in the first place, Arthur tried to investigate why Molly was crying.  
  
"Yes, it's me. Molly? Has anything happened at home? Are you alright?" he asked in a soft prodding tone. There couldn't have been any attack at the Burrow, could it? Molly didn't answer right away, she only started to wail again. The sound caused Arthur to get a feeling of unease, rising from the pit of his stomach and forming a knot in his throat. Why would his wife act the way she did? Arthur cursed the circumstance that he couldn't do anything at all to comfort her, due to the distance. "Darling?"  
  
"Oh Arthur ... I just ... she was ... there's no way ... Arthur ..." she gibbered incoherently, between sobs and hiccups. Anything else, he couldn't make out, anymore.  
  
The dreadful feeling only intensified. What could have possibly happened that left his wife a bundle of nerves? Yes, Molly was a very emotional woman, but this display was nothing ordinary. Arthur wasn't looking forward to receiving the answer. "Molly, what is it?" Though his wife's behaviour frightened him, he wouldn't let on.  
  
"I-I ... the clock was damaged ... I couldn't see ... Ginny, my baby ..."  
  
The air around Arthur froze, as his heartbeat picked up its pace. Gripping the phone more forcefully, he shut his eyes tightly, willing the thoughts out of his mind. It wouldn't do to jump to conclusions before Molly had even finished her sentence. But as he spoke again, his voice was a mere raspy whisper. "What is it with Ginny?"  
  
Molly erupted again in crying, unable to hold out any longer. Why did it have to be her? She was always such a nice little girl, despite her temper which she had inherited from her mother. "She is ... dead!"  
  
Regardless of the wailing of his wife, Arthur heard her words crystal clear. It seemed as though the world stopped spinning, his blood ceased his circulating. "What?" he whispered nonetheless. How could his baby girl be possibly dead? There was no way; she was at Hogwarts, wasn't she? The fine hairs on his forearms stood on end as an alarming thought crossed his mind. What if You-Know-Who had attacked Hogwarts and had made it through the wards? Maybe that had something to do with the wards his Death Eaters had set up, Arthur couldn't be sure. But if Hogwarts had fallen, that was a catastrophe! The Dark Lord couldn't have won over the Light, could he? Left with no way to get the information, the redhead tugged at his hair in frustration. His daughter couldn't be dead ...  
  
"Her ... hand on the ... grandfather-clock ... points at ... dead ..." At this last word, Molly broke down and wouldn't say anything more for seemingly never ending minutes.  
  
Arthur's heart broke over and over again, as he made futile attempts to calm his wife down. He said it could be possible that the clock was wrong, although, deep down he knew that this was not the case. Slowly, Molly regained a bit of her composure back, telling her husband that Ron's hand was still pointing at Hogwarts, the twins' at work. Everything was right, and Ginny's hand pointed at dead. There was no mistaking it.  
  
"Darling?" Arthur coaxed after the silence wore on too long. "Are you going to be ... alright?" He flinched at his formulation. Sure she wouldn't be all right! Their daughter just died, for Merlin's sake! He himself didn't know how he was going to cope with that, let alone how he should break the news to Percy ...  
  
"Why did you call?" Molly obviously opted to ignore the question. She didn't have a satisfying answer for her husband, after all.  
  
Arthur closed his eyes tightly. It was too much, but he'd make sure to help his wife as well as he could, once the wards were broken. So, he told Molly about the attack and assured quickly that he and Percy were only minor injured. "Only a few scratches and bruises, dear, nothing to worry about." But he knew, that Molly wouldn't do anything else but worry. 'What could have been'- scenarios already rode roller coaster in his head. But the worst scenario had already happened, their daughter was dead and wouldn't be coming back again. 


	8. As It Resurfaces

8. As It Resurfaces

Severus Snape swept through the rows of hospital beds towards the secluded section, where the more severe injured lay. For once, his stride hadn't an aura of foreboding around it. Though the grim mien remained, it was the malice that lacked completely – at least for the trained eye. Catching sight of Neville Longbottom, Snape almost slowed down. Who would have thought that this klutz Neville had such courage in himself? Snape definitely hadn't thought he did, but then again, there must have been a reason why the Sorting Hat had put Neville in Gryffindor – other than it could have been considered a joke. Snape's long-time suspicion that the insufferable Weasley twins had somehow managed to manipulate the Sorting Hat's decision, had been blown into the wind by now. After only a moment's hesitation, the Potions Master averted his eyes from the prone figure of the boy he had considered the clumsiest since Nymphadora Tonks herself.

Whereas Longbottom was merely sleeping due to exhaustion, there were a lot of students who were put into a comatose state, for they weren't capable of coping with their severe injuries in their weakened state in any other form. They would have to transfer a considerable amount of magic to keep them at an acceptable level – where acceptable was merely considered 'medically alive'.

A cool gust from behind ruffled Severus' hair. A faint clicking sound a few moments later indicated that the door had swung closed again. He didn't even need to turn around to be sure that it was the Dream Team who had just entered the Hospital Wing. The air of importance that seemed attached to Potter and his two faithful sidekicks wherever they went, caused Snape's skin to bristle dangerously. But he didn't slow down in the least, finally arriving at his destination. Pulling the curtain, which parted the infirmary aside, he was greeted by a very weary-eyed Filius Flitwick. It appeared – and it was true – that the tiny professor had spent the night through, casting spell after spell, until he'd exhausted himself thoroughly. Dark rings under his glazed eyes indicated even better the lack of sleep.

"Ah, Severus," Flitwick said so softly that not even his squeaking voice was heard properly. "Finally reinforcement."

"Substitute rather," Snape growled. "You are of no help in this state-"

"Severus!" Minerva McGonagall snapped. The Transfigurations Teacher had been tending to Colin Creevy, who had tried to get a good shot of Voldemort for his parents. Scowling through a layer of dishevelled hair, she tried in vain to intimidate the Potions Master. "This is not the place nor the time for your sarcasm. We need every bit of help we can get, so you'll just have to get over your petty antipathies, for Merlin's sake!"

Flitwick flinched and emitted a weak squeak. He didn't like to be the centre of attention. Though it was true that he and Snape weren't really what one considered best friends, not even plain friends at that, but he knew that this time Severus' intention was nothing but a good one – for once.

Snape opted to ignore McGonagall and continued to frown at Flitwick. "I'd recommend a Pepper-Up potion but as we haven't got any left ... you'll need to eat something and rest at least four hours. We can't have you collapsing out of exhaustion, now can we? There aren't any beds left. Go!" Severus watched out of the maizeer of his eyes as Filius smiled weakly and left the Medical Wing. As he was the head of Ravenclaw, he knew that he wasn't of any significant use in his current drained state. Taking a break to refresh him was the best option. Snape then locked eyes with McGonagall whose lips were pressed together into a firm queue, raising one eyebrow. He knew that the Gryffindor would have acted differently. And not only this Gryffindor. 'Ugh. Too stubborn for their own good.'

'-+-+-+-'

Though he was smiling, there wasn't even the tiniest twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes as he greeted Hermione, Harry and Ron in the ward of the Hospital Wing.

"Headmaster," Hermione nodded and told him what the reason of their visit was. "You said we could give parts of our magic for the infirmary if we wouldn't want or haven't got the time to help ourselves ..."

Dumbledore cocked his head and studied his three students sadly. "Indeed."

"I've been thinking about the wards Voldemort has installed and if we could use the library for research, then maybe we could find a way to speed things a bit up with the extinguishing."

Dumbledore's face lightened up immediately. "An intriguing idea." He knew that if someone could manage it, it would be Hermione Granger.

The girl beamed at the small compliment and went on to explain. "The sooner we are able to put out the wards, the sooner we'd get professional help from St. Mungo's. The confined state we are currently under would be over. I am aware that we're running out of time."

"We'd be more helpful in the library than here, Headmaster," Harry added and even Ron had been convinced by Hermione on their way to the infirmary.

"Very well. You may use the library for your research," Dumbledore said, reaching for his wand.

"Wouldn't we need to get into the Restricted Section, too?" Ron asked. "I mean, if You-Know-Who set up the wards, they are probably related to the darker magic ..."

Dumbledore nodded affirmative. "Very good, Mr. Weasley." He smiled softly and wrote a quick note allowing them into the restricted library area. "Well, Ms. Granger? Would you please extend your right index finger, so I can extract your magical essence?"

Hermione hesitantly complied and watched as Dumbledore's wand touched the tip of her finger lightly. A tingling sensation rushed through her body towards the wand, as she felt a great part of her magic leaving. Not everything, as they'd both need it to survive themselves and to make their research easier. After he finished with Hermione, the headmaster turned to both Harry and Ron.

"And do not worry, your magic will have replaced itself within two days," Dumbledore explained.

Ron reached for his wand and cast a simple Lumos spell. The tip of his wand glowed, not as brightly as usually, but enough to see clearly. It was strange, though, as the usual amount of power that rushed through his arm was greatly reduced. The redhead shrugged it off, as it was as the headmaster had said: No need to worry.

Dumbledore's sighing turned the attention of the three teenagers back. "I believe the three of you will do fine?" It was clear to what the headmaster was referring.

Ron frowned, being forcefully reminded of his deceased sister. "Oh yes." If it hadn't been this situation, nobody would have probably noticed the underlying sarcasm.

"Ron," Harry said, feeling slightly helpless. Hermione tried to put a comforting hand on the redhead's shoulder, but he just shrugged it off. He refused to say anything more on the topic, he needed to cope with it in his own way, even if it seemed so out of character for him.

Dumbledore sighed once more, regarding the students in front of him with an unusual mixture of sorrow and pride. Every one of them had gone through so much already in their young lives and yet ... It was still not enough. Even after Voldemort was finally dead, the perpetuum mobile just went on and on. The true never ending story. "I shall now bring this," he lifted his hand still holding his wand, "to Professor McGonagall. I trust you will report if you found anything of importance?"

"Certainly," Hermione replied, nodding. Rising from their seats, she, Harry and Ron left the Hospital Wing. They had a lot of work ahead of them.

"It has to be pretty bad," Harry commented solemnly, crossing his arms in front of his chest, as the little group walked through the hallways. Was it just him or was it really getting steadily colder?

"That Dumbledore lets us unsupervised into the secluded area or that he took parts of our magical being to keep our school-mates alive?" Hermione asked, trying not to let the meaning of her own words get to her. It was of course still a soft spot for her. Could they have rescued Draco by transferring some magic into him?

"Neither," Harry answered. "He hasn't even offered us a lemon drop once."

'-+-+-+-'

Albus Dumbledore quickly made his way through the infirmary, which was filled with more well people than injured ones. He schooled his features into confident seriousness lightened up with a bit kept-in-check merriness, as to not awake any more unease in his students. It wasn't as if they believed that everything would be all right. Even though nobody had yet said it out loud, every one knew that it had taken too many and that it wasn't over yet. Albus remembered the speech he'd held, as You-Know-Who was definitely dead, vaporized. He recalled how the pupils had cried with joy and relief. It seemed somehow not genuine, now that it had finally ended so abruptly.

And the bucket of ice-cold water had splashed them with realization at once. Being trapped at Hogwarts with no way of getting help for the injured ones was something that made not only Albus feel utterly helpless. How could this be possibly the end?

The headmaster hadn't been the only one who had made up their mind. This wouldn't be the end. You-Know-You-Can-Call-Him-Now-Voldemort wouldn't also try to get the upper hand from wherever he may reside now. Dumbledore would see to it that his students wouldn't part from this world. With all his might.

The parting that Voldemort had tried to accomplish had at long last backfired. The different houses (regardless pure-, half-blood or Muggle-born) at Hogwarts had never been this close before, as they were now. It made Albus' heart swell with a melancholic pride that he was able to witness it with his own eyes, 'melancholic' for he knew how much it had taken to get to it. He had hoped, but never had thought it possible. Seeing Ravenclaws trying to cheer up Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors donating their magic to help Slytherins, Slytherins accepting this help from Gryffindors and even returning the favour. Albus was never so glad he had been mistaken.

Pulling the curtains silently to the side, the headmaster studied the people who worked there. Quite a few sixth and seventh years students, from all houses, professors McGonagall, Snape, Sprout and even Trelawney.

"I am positively surprised to see how well Gryffindor and Slytherin are able to work together, without so much as a fight – even verbal," Albus announced, as he stood beside where Severus and Minerva were currently tending to one second year Gryffindor girl, who'd come a cropper.

Without looking up, Severus replied softly: "That will die down, eventually."

Minerva shot a quick frown towards her colleague, before turning back to the headmaster. "And why is that?" she asked, already dreading the answer.

"Well, the two heads of the houses are acting as the perfect shining examples," Albus said cheekily, eyes twinkling over the edge of his half-moon glasses.

Realizing that they had indeed worked together without any incident for more than twenty minutes, Snape tried to come up with a nasty comment, but failed miserably. Sighing, he blamed it on his headache. He'd get himself some water, maybe that would help.

After Albus had shared the magic of Ron, Hermione, Harry and the few other students who weren't going to help personally at the infirmary, Severus excused himself.

He pushed the door to one of the small bathrooms open and entered. Letting the cold water pour from the tap, Snape cupped his palms and gathered some, gulping the refreshing moisture down, hastily. The effect wasn't the one he had been looking forward to, as the Potions Master's vision suddenly began to blur. The world around him seemed to spin violently, and hadn't it been for the sink, which Snape had seized with a secure grip, he would have lost his balance for sure. Slumping forward slightly, he relived one memory from the depths of his mind.

'-+-+-+-'

'Lucius Malfoy,' the soft voice whispered gently into Severus' ear, causing his fingers to tighten around the wooden spoon, spasmodically. Snape focused his mind solemnly on the topic at hand, the brewing of Veritaserum, not willing to be sidetracked by the scheming bastard he had to call friend to his face. Pushing the thoughts violently aside – he would have plenty of time afterwards – Snape gave the next ingredient into the cauldron. He wasn't to muff a potion for the Dark Lord, especially Veritaserum. Voldemort's punishment for him would be 'crucial'.

But it wasn't really reassuring that while he brewed this difficult potion, Malfoy tried to blacken his name. Not that Severus expected anything less from him, but sometimes it was more tiring than anything else. How should he watch his back and brew this bloody potion at the same time?

The hours went by too slowly, now that Severus knew that Malfoy had talked about him. Had he been really talking to You-Know-Who? Most likely. Had he already stopped? Hopefully. He wasn't sure how much more of Malfoy's talking Voldemort would take before he finally yielded and inwaistcoatigated if the Potions Master really was not to trust. After all, he was only that, a Potions Master, well, THE Potions Master, but still replaceable. Though, Snape doubted that there was a second expert of the field of his calibre out there, willing to help the dark side.

Adding the finishing touches to his potion and putting the fire down to let it simmer for an additional half hour, Severus put away the ingredients that were left superfluous. Quickly, he surveyed his store and made a mental list as to what he'd need in the next future. Malfoy's calculating figure lurking in the back of his mind, Severus thought about the different ways to sabotage the potion he would have to brew the next time.

'-+-+-+-'

Severus drew in a couple of steadying breaths, while trying to find his balance back. He rubbed his temples roughly, willing the pounding in his head to subside, but it wouldn't work.

"Damn," he cursed silently. "The first potion I managed to muff ... not on purpose." The memory potion he'd invented should have only brought back the memory of this particular day, but this 'vision' he'd just had, was definitely another memory brought back. Caused by the potion or not, Snape was not sure, but he was quite certain that it was indeed his memory, though, he had put it back, deeper into his mind. It wasn't that Malfoy hadn't been suspicious of him non-stop, even justified, Snape would give him credit where it was due. But this specific memory wasn't one he recalled too often. Gritting his teeth, he headed back to the secluded area. He'd have to speak to the headmaster again.


	9. Death Reeks Sour

Danae: speak Danáeh

9. Death Reeks Sour

Severus Snape drew in a deep breath and smoothed out the white blanket over the vacant bed. His lips curled slightly, as the penetrating smell of disinfectant rose into his nostrils. Ever since he could recall, he had avoided hospitals at all costs. All the bright white hurt his sensitive eyes, which were used to the dark. The pungent stench of antiseptics and other medical concoctions hurt his nose. Even after all those years of brewing potions, Snape hadn't come over his dislike of the medical ones. Those he'd brewed for Pomfrey had their own unbearable sour scent. Not that there weren't any other potions that smelled horrible sour, but these medical ones just threatened to awake memories. Long buried ones. Severus closed his eyes briefly, and then proceeded to pull open the curtain from the single now empty bed. There were only a few rays of light shining through the windows, indicating that the Potions Master had already been too long in the infirmary.

The extensive dimensions of Snape Shire lay in relative silence. The building was very old, and this was plain to see. The fresh and green landscape surrounding the Snape home, which reminded strongly of a medieval castle, was a picturesque contrast to the crumbling shire. It looked as though it was a piece of fairy-tale history. History it was, indeed, but far from the fairy-tale.

Every room had its own purpose, and so it didn't come as a surprise, that there also existed a medical chamber. Danae Snape, Severus' mother, currently occupied this chamber. Her prone figure was nearly invisible under the covers, as she lay, unmoving. The light, falling through the near window, made her brown hair glimmer brightly, reminding of raining gold. 'Raining gold' brought back memories of one of the few happy times in her life, and she smiled sadly. Her life had been a roller coaster, and as she had thought that it would finally start to get better, she was again proven wrong. 'I miss so you much, Diktys.'

"Does it still hurt, Mother?" Severus rubbed his nose discreetly, as the smell of the medical chamber was nearly too sour to endure. Too many potions stood in their various vials, spreading unbearable scent. Even though, he had visited the chamber way too often, he still couldn't get used to medical potions.

Danae turned her head and smiled at her son, her gift of the gods. Severus was only seven years old, but she pictured him to just look like his father, when he was grown up. His black hair was smooth and nearly reached his shoulders, it was perfectly in order, indicating that the boy hadn't been running around the house. Severus wasn't the kind of child making trouble, but also not the kind of child having fun; at least it appeared that way to her. "No, dear," she said softly, opening her arms. "Come to me, Verus."

Severus stood rooted to the place, rubbing his nose with his robe sleeve. His eyes began to water, trying as he might, he couldn't hold the tears back. "I want back," he sobbed quietly. "I want to go back ... then you don't have ... to be hurt anymore ... and we can be happy again ..."

Danae's heart clenched. "Oh, my boy, come to me." But Severus didn't follow her coaxing; he couldn't even stand his mother's touch, anymore. "We can't go back again, never. I already told you, didn't I?"

"But Fa- ... Fa- ... he is mean to you ... and to me," he added, sobbing more loudly.

"Listen to me, Severus. Soon you will be old enough, and you will attend Hogwarts and then ... then you will be able to leave, alright?"

"But I don't want to leave without you!" the boy screeched, stamping with his feet. "I don't want to leave you! I want to go back! Why can't we?! I don't understand!"

"Verus, please ..." Danae objected weakly.

"Why can't we go back like it was earlier?! Father would've NEVER-"

"Severus!" she snapped, then. "Stop it!" Danae tried to regain her composure back. She didn't like to raise her voice, but it wasn't easy to control her son, who had developed quite a temper in the last time. Sighing, she shot Severus an apologetic look. "You know, we can't go back, don't you? Father is gone ... We have no other place, where we could go."

"Why don't we go to your father, then?" Severus insisted.

Danae's expression changed drastically at the mention of her sire. She didn't like to be reminded of him, the man who had turned his back on her. The man who had dared to embed his only daughter in a tower, just like Rapunzel, and that only because of one stupid prediction. As it was mentioned before, Danae's life was everything but a fairy-tale. Her voice trembled only slightly, as she answered the question. "That would be too dangerous."

"Dangerous? Dangerous! ... And why don't we go simply somewhere else? We could live alone! We could search a place where it is nice the whole year, maybe where other people are or something! We could go everywhere! Why do we stay here?!"

Danae sighed sadly at the innocent comment of to boy in front of her. "Life isn't that easy, son. You'll have to learn it, sooner or later."

Severus huffed angrily and stalked out of the room, making sure to bang the door especially loud to make his point in that subject clear.

Ron coughed as he pulled a rather dusty tome from the shelves. They had actually found books in the restricted area which weren't frequently used. It seemed just odd. Hermione glanced up, temporarily stopping sifting through the book before her. They hadn't found anything useful yet. Harry worked in relative silence, but Ron was near frustrating. He hadn't Hermione's stamina when it came to going through tomes.

'Some kind of recognition spell would be useful,' Hermione thought regretfully. 'Then we'd know what this wards are ...' But of course, she knew that this wouldn't be possible. It would take even more time to search after a spell to determine which wards Voldemort had used. And who said that after they knew what wards there were, that they could figure out a way to vaporize them immediately? No-one, to put it shortly. Hermione let out a frustrated sigh, and went back to work.

"I miss-"

"What ...?" Hermione asked distracted, reading the rest of the sentence and then marking her place.

"I said, I think I may have found something," Harry said, causing Ron to look up, too. The tome Harry had been sifting through, was so tattled that its title wasn't recognizable anymore. He had been very careful for he feared that the century-old book may just crumble to ashes in his very hands if he turned one page too quickly. From its intents it was clear that the book was about Dark Arts, though. "Here," he pointed towards a charcoal drawing in the middle of the page. It showed a rather small cottage in the middle of a clearing, surrounded by an old looking forest. There were dark-clothed, hooded figures, who climbed out of the windows and one even came out of the chimney. The entrance to the cottage was wide open and two children and one adult wizard were obviously trying to get out. It seemed as though there was an invisible barrier, preventing them to escape from their own home. Tracing a finger along one side of the cottage, Harry let a cheese-cover-like web of magic appear. The two children seemed to shriek and jumped back, hiding behind what was obviously their father. "Did you see that?"

"The dark wizards did get through the wards, but the family was trapped," Hermione mused, pulling the book closer to herself. 'I wonder if these wards have any negative effects on their own ... They are Dark Magic, aren't they?' The girl scanned the page for the information to the picture and read out loud what was written there. "The Tarantula Spell. It is considered a very powerful," Hermione snorted at that, there weren't any un-powerful spells they had to encounter, "and also exceptionally dark spell. Only the strongest wizards are capable of casting this spell, and even then there are certain repercussions to expect. The spell forms a web of wards to ensure that the inhabitants won't be able to escape from their home ... Mm. Nothing about a counter-spell. Only that it disintegrates automatically in approximately two weeks, but we already figured as much."

"What kind of repercussions?" Harry asked.

Hermione quickly re-read the article, but then shook her head. "It never says anything about that. Mm. It is often the case that Dark Magic has its disadvantages and that the caster has to pay a price, nothing unusual ..."

"But in the most cases this price is only of importance if the caster is a good wizard, isn't it?" Ron asked.

Harry nodded forlornly. "Yes. It wouldn't do for the dark wizards to punish their own ones if they used Dark Magic ... The intentions to use Dark Magic is primarily to do damage to the Light. So if the Light were to use Dark Magic, they would have to pay, but the Dark wouldn't have to, would they? ... This doesn't make any sense ..." Harry rubbed his forehead, as if the now not-existing scar was hurting.

"Unless," Ron interrupted, drawing the attention to himself. "Unless these 'repercussions' aren't meant to be a disadvantage but an advantage to the spell caster. What if-" The redhead looked as serious as in his best days. "What if the repercussions are indeed echoes, meant to come back to the victims of the spells?"

There was an eerie calmness hunting through the nearly vacant library, as the three of them contemplated the meaning of Ron's words. It didn't take long to sink in.

"Not a very reassuring prospect," Hermione stated solemnly. She rubbed her suddenly numb fingers. "We have to tell the headmaster about this. Better not losing any more time ..." her voice petered out as a sudden thought hit her unprepared, reminding her of their current state. "We haven't got any magic."

Ron blanched considerably. "Nothing to worry about, indeed!" He jumped up, ready to bolt, but not quite sure what his destination should be. "We are more vulnerable than ever and this is just because we thought we are safe! Bloody fantastic!" His mind was fast to draw the numerous possibilities of what could be happening in a two days time. Each and every potential outcome was quite bloody and deadly.

Hermione, too, rose from her seat. She shot a glare towards Harry, urging him to hurry. "Aren't you coming with us?" she asked incredulously.

Harry looked up from where he had been studying the page. "There is something more," he said, picking the book up and pointing to the picture in question.

"Oh, it is, isn't it?" Ron asked sarcastically. "As if these evil wards weren't already enough! Tarantula Spell, indeed," he said, shuddering as he recalled their adventure with one well-known gigantic spider. 'Tarantula' had such a feeling of foreboding attached to it. "I bloody hope this spell got his name from the way the wards are put into a web ..." Even though the prospect of being trapped in a huge spider-web wasn't one, one was particularly looking forward to, the possibility of ending as a tarantula snack was even more something, nobody was too keen on experiencing.

Hermione scanned the picture, but couldn't find anything noticeable. "I don't see anything. Let's get to Dumbledore, I don't have a good feeling." As if to make her point clearer, her skin was suddenly covered in goose-bumps.

"Wait a second, here!" Harry touched the dark wizards one after the other with his index finger. "These are minor wizards. Only the strongest wizards are able to cast this spell, but where is this powerful wizard? These here are only minions."

Hermione rubbed her head warily. "I have no idea what this could mean."

"Me neither."

It was fairly late already, as Hermione, Harry and Ron made their way to Dumbledore's office, and hadn't it been for the fact that they had snuck food into the library, their stomachs would be protesting quite loudly. They hadn't thought of much aside from their research, and they found themselves quite lucky to have such results the very first day.

The three friends nearly run the whole way, but came to an abrupt halt, as they reached the stone gargoyle. Harry hadn't thought about that they didn't know the password, so he began the guessing game. "Lemon drop, kudos, toffee, skittles, chocolate raisins, onion chips, soletti, snips, mars, bounty ..." When they all ran out of sweets, Harry tried to negotiate. "Listen, we need to speak with the headmaster."

"It is important," Hermione added.

"Oh, I don't have the nerve for it," Ron growled. "Headmaster! Dumbledore!!"

"Ron!" Hermione hissed, pressing one hand flat right above her racing heart. "You can't go screaming around when you just feel like it. Besides, Dumbledore has most likely silencing charms around his office, so there's no point in ..." she trailed off, as the gargoyle suddenly moved aside to let them in.

"You were saying?" Ron asked, raising his brows mock-questioningly. He entered the small room leading to the headmaster's office first, leaving behind a growling Hermione and a faintly amused Harry.

A few moments later saw Ron knocking on Dumbledore's door. He opened the door, as he was bidden in, and stopped dead in his tracks as he caught sight of the other occupant of the office besides Dumbledore. Grimacing inwardly, he took a cautiously step forward, greeting the headmaster politely and nodding somewhat reluctantly to Snape.

The Potions Master rose from his seat. "If this was all, I'm going to take my leave now." But he didn't escape.

"Would you please stay, Severus? I will have some more points to discuss with you and I believe this shall not take too long," Albus asked his friend, then turned towards the three teenagers. "Professor Snape and I had only a small dialogue," he shot a glance towards Harry, "With what may I help you?"

Harry stepped forward, tome clutched in his hands, flinching inwardly at the hostile glare he received from Snape, but he didn't let on. "We made a discovery in this book here," he held up the book in question, "and I think you should take a look at it."

"Very well," Dumbledore said, beckoning Harry closer and motioning for Ron and Hermione to take a seat. The headmaster shot a secret glance towards the Potions Master, who was still standing slightly uncertain. After Harry had given the book to Dumbledore, the headmaster read the article quickly out loud, to let Severus know too, what it was about. He studied the picture, and finally sighed.

"I suppose it is safe to presume that you already searched the spell register what kind of dark spell this Tarantula Spell is and how it is possible to put it out, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked smoothly, raising his left brow slightly. Harry felt his face getting hot, as he ground his teeth. Leave it to Snape to improve his mood.

"We wanted to inform the headmaster as soon as possible, we haven't thought-" Ron said indignantly, while Hermione, sitting beside him, flushed a deep crimson.

"Obviously, Mr. Weasley," Snape cut him off, silkily. "Or should I call you Mr. Potter, as you seem to respond to that name, too?"

"That should be enough, Severus," Albus said gently. "I believe that Harry, Ron and Hermione have only acted upon their best intentions, am I right?"

Harry nodded curtly, glancing out of the corner of his eye at Snape who smirked smugly. Obviously he was satisfied, Harry could see Ron practically bristling angrily, but surprisingly the redhead hadn't exploded. Yet, anyway. It was a true mystery to him, what kicks Snape got of the whole acting way-better-than-thou thing.

Severus listened intently to what the headmaster was saying, while one part of his mind was gloating over the usual Gryffindor behaviour the three teenagers had shown. How typical to first act and then think, they would have saved time if the Boy-Who-Lived and his two sidekicks had thought things through first and not just jumped to actions. Even though, Snape's mind somehow regretfully noted that it was a mature thing to inform elder wizards first of their discovery and not to take actions on their own accord – as they had done so many times before. But this was Harry Potter; there was always something for Snape to complain about. Even when it was mature behaviour. Old habits died hard.

"This information is very useful," Dumbledore said, folding his hands on the desk. "I shall assume that you will take up your research again tomorrow morning?"

"Sure," Harry replied, nonchalantly.

"You may come to my office, whenever you need to."

"Oh, 'bout that ... We don't know the password, so ..."

Albus chuckled quietly. "I'll leave the staircase open. So, if that was everything, I believe that the three of you need to head back. You'll need to be refreshed tomorrow to go on in your research in the library. Good night."

After the teenager had left, Albus sighed tiredly. "What do you think, Severus?" He watched his Potions Master, as he sorted his thoughts quickly. He would need to ask Harry the next day if he had any more visions or memories, as Severus had had. Hopefully not, that would be one problem less.

"I never heard of the Tarantula Spell before."

"Me neither, child."

Snape frowned. "As much as it pains me to admit, I suppose Potter may have found something important. This picture with the dark wizards ... Those were indeed minor ones, none of those should have been able to cast this powerful spell. But that leaves the question, who the caster was."

"Maybe it was someone outside of the house, outside the picture."

"Mm, maybe," Severus mumbled, then he rose from his seat, the second time. "I need to go now, Albus. Good night."

"Good night, Severus." Albus wisely refrained from wishing his friend sweet dreams.


	10. Return To Me

10. Return To Me

Work in the infirmary was hectic, the air was warm and sticky. Professors as well as students worked in tense silence.

Severus Snape tried to put as much faith into Potter as was possible for him; not that much, indeed. If he wasn't needed in the infirmary, the Potions Master would do the research all by himself. Snape had the sinking feeling, though, that after Voldemort had used Potter's blood again to accomplish his goals, they would need the boy himself to put out the wards. What a prospect.

After seemingly endless hours, Snape retreated to his personal chambers. He felt tired and utterly drained. Added to his new medical duties, Severus had also had a few more visions over the day. They were much shorter than the last ones, but took him by surprise, nonetheless. Some were of his time as Voldemort's Death Eater, a few of his mother and even as the spy of the Order.

Too tired to do anything else but sleep, Severus opted to inform the headmaster first thing the next morning, and went to bed.

"Tabloid Charm, Tabula Rasa, ah here it is, the Tarantula Spell, let's see ..." Hermione read the text in the spell listing and took notes, her quill scratching madly against the dry parchment. "Dark Magic, belongs to the group of the Warding Spells, Light Magic counteracts the wards with this simple spell ..." Hermione leafed through the book to the mentioned page and looked through the description, nodding now and then. "Sounds easy enough, I think I could manage it. Tomorrow I should be able to test it."

"That's it?" Ron asked, doubting. "It can't be that easy. A simple light spell should take out this super-dark magical warding? There must be a catch to it."

"True," Harry confirmed. "Why should Voldemort use such difficult Dark Magic if we could put it out so easily? Even with these 'repercussions' we have yet to find out what they are, he should have known that we would find the counter-spell in one of Hogwarts' library books."

"Maybe he thought we couldn't read."

"Oh well, never look a gift horse in the mouth."

"It's a Muggle proverb," Harry explained to the confused looking Ron.

Hermione started to leaf back to her previous page, as suddenly the door to the library flew open. A cool gust rustled through her unruly hair, letting the old pages of the tome flatter dangerously. Taken by surprise, Hermione yelped and tried to keep the book safe. Ron and Harry tried to make out what tried to enter, but the wind was now so strong, that they had to shield their watering eyes.

"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!" The high-pitched scream shattered the relatively calmness before the storm. The wind died down immediately afterwards to a mere gust, as a human-sized figure flew over the library desks, the eerie coldness touching Hermione's forehead, ripping the book out of the girl's grip and sending it crashing to the far side of the chamber. "Merlin help me! He's going to kill me! He already-"

"Peeves?" Harry asked, who had recognized the ghost immediately. He squinted his eyes to follow the luminescent spirit around, as he flew madly from one side to the other, sometimes flying through book shelves, other times banging against them. "What did you do to the Bloody Baron again?"

"Who cares? Merlin! Are you mad?" Ron yelled, pressing one hand to his chest to soothe his racing heart. "This is not funny! Stick to your stupid jokes, pranks, songs or whatever you like! If you should've not noticed yet, I'm gonna tell you: This is a very tense state now, you stupid git! Your little show here did nothing to improve the situation, DID YOU GET THAT?!" The redhead's breathing was ragged as he finally finished his tirade. He obviously needed a vent to steam off.

Harry shot a cautious glance towards his friend, then went to help Hermione to gather the pages that were ripped out of the tome. Unbeknownst to them, one page had sailed directly into the roaring fireplace, the paper was already crumbled to ashes, the last word 'lethal' not to be read anymore. Harry put the lose pages into his inner-robe pockets to protect them from the still freely flying poltergeist.

"Hahaha," Peeves laughed shrilly. "Stupid children! If you don't want me, all you have to do is say so! I'll take my petty problems then and leave!" The ghost snorted and flew twirling through the ceiling, creating a small whirlwind by the way. Books were splattered onto the floor, shoved out of the various shelves. The air in the library was livid afterwards, as Ron screamed that the ghost should have done so in the first place and let out a stream of various other choice words.

Harry, Ron and Hermione made their way to the headmaster's office, shortly after Snape had retired to his rooms for the night. Hermione was especially quiet, cradling the tome close to her quest. After Peeves had left the library, they had looked the torn out pages through. Alas, exactly the page with the Tarantula Spell hadn't been there; bad luck indeed. They had searched everywhere, Ron even performed a tracking spell, leaving him exhausted due to the lack of magic, but there hadn't been a trace of said page. At least, Hermione still had her notes on what she had already read about the spell. Everything they had now to do was report to Dumbledore and put down the wards. Finally it really was coming to an end after being stuck at Hogwarts without prospect of escape too soon. Hermione's parents hadn't maybe even heard about what had happened in the Wizarding World. Ron's parents, on the other hand, were worried sick for sure.

They walked past a small door and Hermione stopped suddenly, turning around to the boys, who had been following her quietly.

"Guys?" she said, handing the book and her notes to Harry. "Would you mind terribly if you'd be going alone to Dumbledore?"

"Eh? I thought you were so excited about what you found ..."

"You'll do fine, Ron," Hermione answered, forcing a little smile. "I'm not feeling too well. Just a headache," she added quickly to forestall the boys' objection at leaving her behind when she was ill. "I'll drink something and then head to bed to get some more sleep. Wouldn't want to try the counter-spell with this hammering in my head."

"You sure, Mione?" Harry asked, torn apart. He did understand how painful headaches could get, and Hermione had never complained about such things before. But on the other side, he wanted to get over with informing Dumbledore.

"Yeah. Go on. See you tomorrow at breakfast."

"OK," Harry said, still not convinced, eyeing her critically. Ron seemed to have similar thoughts.

"I'll be fine," Hermione laughed quietly. "Off you go."

As Ron and Harry were out of sight, she let out her breath. She went a few meters back and pushed open the door to a bathroom, which didn't seem to be used too frequently. It was pretty cool inside, causing Hermione to pull her robes tighter around herself to avoid shivering. After she'd adjusted enough, she pulled out her wand, pointed it at herself und muttered a refreshment charm. Immediately, she felt a bit better. The pain in her lower back, though, was still there, and the cold air around her didn't do her any more good. Quickly, Hermione put also a warming spell around her mid-section, and sighed contentedly. This indeed felt better now.

Hermione drank some water from the sink and then gazed into the mirror. She didn't want to worry her friends, but at least they weren't as embarrassed as the last time she let on that she had this 'girl stuff' sometimes. Hermione grinned as she remembered how red both Ron and Harry had turned, not quite sure of what they should say or what to do. These were things most boys didn't want to know about.

"Oh well," Hermione sighed, then frowned slightly as she heard a faint cracking sound. She could only stare wide-eyed as the mirror in front of her suddenly split from the middle. It was as if it was happening in slow motion, but in fact, it was too fast to follow.

And then, Hermione felt herself knocked over to the side, landing with a thud on the hard floor, as the mirror exploded into hundreds of pieces. The girl covered her face with her sleeve to protect it from the razor-sharp chunks of glass. Surprisingly, though, she wasn't hit by even one.

"Who's there?" she asked with more confidence she was really feeling, as she sat up, rubbing her sore shoulder. "I know you are here ..." she went on, warily squinting her eyes to see if she could make out someone. Quietly groaning, Hermione got to her feet and went to block the door, which seemed to be the only escape. Someone had knocked her over, she had felt someone's body protect her from the mirror pieces. If she wouldn't know for sure that Ron and Harry were currently at the headmaster's office, she would have sworn one of them had used Harry's invisibility cloak. Had anyone else such an item, too?

"Show yourself," the girl said, this time trying to sound more friendly. Maybe her rescuer was only extremely shy? "You don't have to be afraid ..."

"I don't have to be afraid?" a quiet voice asked out of nowhere.

Hermione's eyes widened considerably. She stuttered incoherently, grabbing the door behind her for support. "S-show yourself!"

"I'm not able ... yet."

"Use your own voice then!" Hermione cried, tears starting to build in her eyes. She couldn't stand to hear it again, even if it once was her favourite tone.

"But-"

"AT ONCE!"

The temperature in the bathroom seemed to sink even lower. The serenity was treacherous, and Hermione knew that she wasn't alone. The tension was almost unbearable as she waited for a response she knew she wouldn't be able to fight.

"It's my voice, Mione."

"Draco?" she asked, hating herself for the childlike hope being unmistakably in her own voice. "Where are you?"

"Right in front of you," he whispered, stepping closer.

"But how ... why ...?" Hermione asked confused, trying to look Draco into the eyes, but all she could see was thin air.

"I don't know," the Slytherin answered, quietly. "I just know that I'm supposed to come back as ... well ... a ghost." Draco chuckled insecure. "It seems as if it will still take awhile till I'm a 'real ghost', whatever that means. I just kept slipping in and out of here during the last days, you know ..."

Hermione felt something cool brush her cheek and leaned into the touch, reaching out with her own hand. Suddenly, something clicked in her mind and her head snapped up from where her hand had obviously found her love's chest. "You were here? I-I guess I felt you the other day in the Great Hall ..."

"Yeah," Draco chuckled. "That was me. I was following you around." Hermione could just see the smirk on his face.

"Y-you kissed me!" she gasped, as she remembered how something cold had brushed her lips that made her fall from her seat. She had thought she had gone mad, but now she couldn't even be mad at anyone. "How could you?!" she asked, nonetheless.

"You never complained before," Draco replied, indignantly, leaning even closer so Hermione could feel his surprisingly warm breath on her face.

"B-but you're supposed to be-"

"Dead?" he cut her off. "So what?"

Hermione was a bit taken aback by that answer. He was dead, so what? Normally that would mean the end of a relationship. Was this an exception? Somehow, the girl couldn't quite picture herself with a non-living partner.

"Stop crying," Draco chastised her quite roughly. "You know I don't like it."

"I can't stop it, you stupid prat!" Hermione cried, throwing her hands angrily in the air, as her tears kept streaming down her face. "You were ... ARE dead! I thought I'd never see, or hear for that matter, you again! What will you do? Punish me for showing emotions?!" But Hermione didn't let him even a second's time to answer, as she threw her arms around the invisible figure of Draco and clung to him for dear life. "I missed you, you silly git," she whispered choked.

"I missed you, too, you insufferable know-it-all," Draco said softly, before his body vanished suddenly, leaving Hermione standing alone in the bathroom in a rather odd looking position. She blinked, confused, not sure if it had been real or just part of her imagination. But the mirror still lay broken in pieces on the ground, and as a little gust dried away her last tears, she smiled.

Mere minutes later, she asked herself how Draco had been there at exact the moment she'd need him. And what it was he had rescued her from. Mirrors didn't just randomly explode into one's face.

She'd tell all about what had happened in the bathroom tomorrow, Dumbledore would know what to do.

"These are indeed very promising news," Albus said gently, his eyes twinkling ever so slightly. For the last half hour Ron and Harry had told him everything they had found out. Ron had made it sure that it was Peeves' fault that the page had gotten lost, but at least they had still Hermione's note, and that was sufficient for the moment. "The day after tomorrow, after your magic returned, you will start practicing the spell. It shouldn't take you too long, as it is indeed a rather simple one, Harry."

"Why?" Harry groaned. Why did he have to do all the work? Hadn't he already killed ... the rat ... Scratch that. Wasn't he a great help in the killing of Voldemort?

"Now, Harry," Albus said, chuckling quietly. "This will be the last time you need to rescue us. After this, you will be free to do what you wish with your life. You do understand why it is necessary to put down those wards as soon as possible?"

"Yeah," he groaned, miserably. "I'll do it."

"Good." Albus beamed, then offered both Ron and Harry a lemon drop, who both refused. "I'll also ask Severus to try it ..."

"Snape?" Ron cried, surprised.

"Yes, Professor Snape," Albus replied, quietly. After shooting a quick glance at Harry, he went on. "He was of great help in this entire war, and maybe he will be able to help Harry."

Harry squirmed in his seat. He knew to what the headmaster was referring, unlike Ron. Harry had told them about his returned memory, but he hadn't exactly told them that it was Snape's curse that had killed Voldemort. It wasn't that Harry wanted the fame, far from it. He could have lived without it, that he had made perfectly clear more times than he cared to count. But Harry just couldn't admit that Snape had got to do the one thing he was destined from the beginning to fulfil. Dumbledore, though, seemed to know, and he didn't go too much into details. It wasn't important to Harry, and after he left Hogwarts, Snape could claim all he wanted. Things would be bumpy, that was for sure. But Harry didn't really want to think about that right now, as they had more pressing matters.

"It's alright, Ron," he said, evenly.

"What? But-" the redhead tried to reason, but he was cut off by Dumbledore.

"That shall be enough. The times of war are over. We all are on the same side and there is no reason to go on holding grudges."

"Sorry," Ron whispered, his ears turning bright red. "If that was all," he said, casting a quick glance to Harry.

"If you would go ahead," Albus said quickly. "I still have a short matter to discuss with Harry."

"What? But I thought we were ready." Ron had already risen from his seat and looked now confused from the headmaster to his equally confused friend.

"It has nothing to do with the wards," Albus said, gently.

"Not the wards? But what then?" Harry asked, confused.

"You may want to tell your friends afterwards. But for now I would prefer to talk to you in private."

Ron gritted his teeth, he knew he wouldn't get more information out of the headmaster at the moment. "I'll be going then," he said, turning to open the door. "I'll wait in the Common Room."

"Harry will join you soon," Albus promised. "It won't take long." He sighed, as Ron was out of the door.

"What was this all about?" Harry asked, warily. "What did you need to discuss with me?"

Albus ignored his question for the moment, instead he gazed deeply into Harry's eyes, trying to decipher if he'd say the truth. "Did you have another memory come back lately?"

Harry blinked, he hadn't thought it would be that. "No," he said, surprised. "Why do you ask?"

Albus kept silent for a little longer, then sighed as he saw that the boy said the truth. "As you do not want me to tell about this possible link of you and Professor Snape, I fear I am not going to tell you ..."

"Snape got more memories back," Harry concluded surprisingly fast.

The headmaster steepled his finger and turned his merrily twinkling gaze once more on the Gryffindor in front of him. "Whatever makes you believe this?"

"I am right, aren't I?"

"I believe Mr. Weasley is waiting for your return."

As Harry returned to the Gryffindor Common Room, he found Hermione asleep on the couch. Ron sat beside her, pulling a blanket tighter around her body. Apparently she had wanted to wait up for them, but fell asleep eventually.

"Ron," Harry said quietly, as to not scare the boy nor wake the girl.

"What did Dumbledore want?" Ron asked right away, looking up to the black-haired boy.

"He just asked if I had more visions like the one in the mirror," Harry said, quickly changing the object. "Do you suppose we should bring Mione to her dorm?"

"Nah," Ron said, shaking his head. "We could wake her, and she already has a headache ... And apart from that, it's late and the girls are already sleeping." He ignited the fire again in the fireplace to ensure that Hermione wouldn't be cold over night.

"Right," Harry grinned, heading to the boys' dorm. "Coming?"

Ten minutes later both Harry and Ron were lying in their beds, fast asleep due to the long day of research. The air was quiet, Ron was slumbering peacefully away.

The peace in Harry's dreams, however, didn't last too long. A soft voice whispered 'Lucius Malfoy' into his ear, dark images flooded his mind and alien thoughts echoed through his head. As it was over, Harry's eyes snapped open.

"Snape?"


	11. Drawing Closer Circles

11. Drawing Closer Circles

Hermione woke up early with a terrible aching back. Added to her normal PMS syndromes, she didn't feel too well. The Common Room was empty safe of her; no surprise there, as it was only around 5 a.m. Even though, it was so early, Hermione couldn't go back to sleep anymore, her whole body ached dully every time she tried to turn around and she felt sore, although she didn't move at all. The fire had died down considerably, but it was enough to keep her warm. She groaned, as she sat up, swinging her legs over the edge of the couch. Smiling, she folded the blanket that one of her best friends had given her, proving once again that she could rely on them, no matter what nor when. Hugging herself as she made her way to the showers, Hermione longed for Draco. Ever since cruel destiny, or rather, Voldemort had ripped him away from her, she had wanted to turn back time, to get him back, to even hear him again. Now that she had indeed heard him, even felt him once more, Hermione felt elated. The rational part of her mind was shut down, telling her that Draco was dead, telling her that he was no more alive than a magical painting. But Hermione only accepted the advantages of Draco being the ghost he now was; or would be. She would hear him, would be able to even touch him; even though, she had no idea how that worked. Normally, ghosts weren't supposed to be able to feel and touch, they were mere souls, trapped between life and death, not belonging fully to one side anymore.

Hermione shrugged this all off as unimportant. Hagrid's parents, after all, couldn't have been more different. What could one possibly say against the relationship of her and a ghost? It was the Wizarding World, after all, such incredible things happened at a daily basis, didn't they?

After a long, refreshing shower, Hermione headed to Dumbledore's office. Feeling a bit drained after having used magic the day before, she walked briskly, not being aware of the pair of invisible eyes, following her every step.

Harry hadn't slept as much as Hermione, and when Hypnos had let him finally gracefully into his sanctuary, Harry had been haunted by alien memories, rushing through his mind, disordering his own thoughts. Each time, he had jerked awake, not knowing where he was immediately and why exactly he dreamt about being Snape. In fact, it was a bit unnerving. Why would Harry fantasize about being his hated Potions Master? He'd rather be anyone else; Ron, Neville, heck, even being Hermione would be better.

Shuddering, Harry pulled the sheets tighter around his body, thinking about why he really had those dreams, those ... Harry frowned, as he recalled the conversation with Dumbledore the other day. He was positive that the headmaster had tried to hint that Snape had indeed gotten more memories back than intended in the first place. Maybe those memories were the dreams Harry had had this night. But this would mean also that there indeed existed some sort of link between Snape and himself. Ugh. So much for not wanting to be Snape. Try as he might, though, the unwanted memories wouldn't stay in the back of his mind, and Harry's head busied itself with interpretations.

The first memory had shown Snape brewing a potion in some murky dungeon, definitely not at Hogwarts, though. And even though, Harry had not only seen the rooms and Snape, he somehow could hear Severus' thoughts, too, hearing in his own head, as if they were his own. Hadn't it been such a freaking thing, Harry would have been thoroughly mesmerized at how complicated Snape's mind worked. How could the greasy git concentrate on brewing Veritaserum as if it were the simplest Cheering Potion and in the same time thinking about Lucius and Voldemort and what they were talking about behind his back?

Hermione had once told them about how extremely intelligent individuals thought in seemingly impossible ways, seeing patterns in the most incredulous riddles, connecting apparently randomly taken thoughts. Harry couldn't help but be awed at how Snape seemed to absolutely play everything that he knew about a potion ingredient in his mind, and he never lost track of how many stirs he still had left. Not that Harry was envious, each his own.

'Lucius Malfoy,' a soft voice had whispered into his ear and Snape had immediately known that the blond had talked about him. Was this why Snape was always so paranoid? Maybe it was some kind of psychological malfunction, heightening his already innate suspicious nature. Or maybe this was some sort of premonition? Maybe Snape knew in fact always when someone planned something behind his back?

'This would really explain some things,' Harry mused. 'And it must be cool ... Knowing when someone talks about me behind my back. Then again, maybe not, when you look how Snape seems to cope with it ... I wonder if he knows I think about him now? Probably thinks I'm planning something to spite him ...'

The second memory had left Harry slightly speechless. Snape had looked so ... Harry would have used the word 'sweet' if the boy in the memory hadn't displayed such a temper, reminding him of the moody Potions Master of his present. This memory had been even more intriguing than the first, as Harry could not only watch and see everything, but also read Snape and Danae's mind, experiencing their emotions.

Danae Snape. She had looked so little like Severus that Harry would have never guessed that the two of them could be possibly related if it weren't for the fact that Danae had felt motherly for Severus; Harry knew immediately of their connection, even before the first words were spoken.

It was an open secret that Hogwarts' Potions Master couldn't compete with Witch Weekley's Smile of the Year winners. Harry snorted. Snape versus Lockhardt – Who was the most wanted bachelor? What a difficult choice. Harry frowned. Lockhardt was an empty, vain shell and Snape was a sadistic, ugly bastard. It would indeed be a difficult choice. If there would be such a competition, if Harry would have to chose ... That was so beside the point. Back to the topic.

Severus ugly, Danae beautiful. Harry wondered fleetingly how his Potions Master would look with hair as bright red as his mother's. Would he wear red robes or still black one's? Red and black. Definitely the colours of the devil.

Snape must look more like his father.

'How must he have looked like?' Harry thought. Like Snape? That'd just be gruesome. Someone with Snape's features procreating was just plain cruel. Maybe Snape senior just passed on his looking's, though, but not his character features. Danae hadn't seemed like the woman that would cope with someone with the temper of the present Snape.

Severus' mother had surely experienced enough in her life, and Harry wondered if she was still alive. He could sympathize with her; being trapped in a confining space by one's own relatives was something he could understand only too well, unfortunately.

Harry pitied it somehow that Severus' father obviously had died so early, no-one deserved to lose his parents at such a young age. Snape's stepfather didn't seem to be the boy's favourite person. What indeed irked Harry, was that although Danae's second husband had been Severus' stepfather, his name had been Snape. And Danae didn't seem to have two surnames as it would have been usual with multiple marriages. Could it have been that Danae's first and second husband had both been Snape's?

Harry shuddered, disgusted. Definitely too many Snape's for his liking.

The sun peeked slowly over the horizon, as the other night's memories held Harry in their wake. Too much Snape in there as well. Peeks and glimpses into a life Harry had never wanted to get to know. Too sad, too heart wrenching. And Harry had almost thought that all the bad things only happened to him. He could understand, even if just a bit, how it must feel being Snape with all his impossible quirks, his life-long grudges. Harry couldn't afford developing such a personality; even though, he had also experienced enough in his short life. Some-when, Snape had taken the wrong road.

Harry would take the right one. He got up, changed quickly into his robes and left the dorm; Ron was still slumbering away quietly. The couch in front of the fireplace was empty, he noticed, Hermione was already up or she went to her own bed.

Harry strode quickly through the hallways, his mind already at Dumbledore's office. The headmaster probably had already a cup of tea and cookies waiting for him; or maybe only the tea.

"Joining the early birds, Potter?" a cold voice asked suddenly, causing Harry to stop dead in his tracks, icy chills racing up his spine. "Or why are you already roaming the school?"

Harry rolled his eyes, then turned around and came face to chest ... the boy was still too small. He craned his neck to look Snape in the face. The Potions Master did this on purpose; so much was clear. As if he wasn't already tall enough, the nearer he stood, the more intimidating he appeared in all his black bat glory. Harry didn't even flinch as he saw the hatred Snape's eyes radiated, instead he felt an overwhelming surge of pity. But the Gryffindor didn't show it, the Potions Master wouldn't appreciate it, he knew.

"I was just ..." Harry started, but then stopped abruptly. Was it a wise choice to tell Snape that he wanted to the headmaster? Snape mustn't know about the link.

"What, pray tell, were you just?" Snape snarled. "Wasting my time?"

"Taking a walk," Harry responded, frowning. "I couldn't sleep, if you must know, so I decided to take a walk."

"I forgot," Snape scowled. "Hogwarts is the personal stage for our dear celebrity. And even though every other student is bright enough – however barely – to grasp the concept of a curfew, you seem always to be the exception of the rule, don't you? How ... Gryffindor of you. You didn't even waste one thought that you could get caught, did you?"

"There is nothing wrong with being a Gryffindor," Harry said through gritted teeth. "We are at least honourable. Ring any bells?" He couldn't help but add the last part, even though, he regretted it instantly afterwards. Don't you ever dare put Gryffindors over Slytherin. "But Slytherin isn't bad, either," he added immediately, considering the fact that he almost ended there in his Sorting.

"Indeed," Snape growled, his confusion partially obvious. Why would Potter say something good about Slytherin? That just sounded strange out of his mouth. "Not that you would have any traits necessary to get into my house, Potter," he smirked. "Your qualities end where mine begin."

"Wha-? I'll have you know that the Sorting Hat wanted to put me into Slytherin House! I begged not to get there!" Harry blurted out, indignantly, before he could stop himself.

Snape took an involuntary step backwards, caught off guard. "As I said," he sneered, regaining his composure partly. "No sense of when you should hold your tongue. Now back to your tower before I take off 100 points of your house of choice for being out after curfew."

"The curfew ended five minutes ago."

"20 points from Gryffindor for talking back! Now out of my sight before it will be 50 more!"

Harry fled back to the Common Room, suddenly not so keen anymore on talking to Dumbledore. The headmaster wouldn't know about his memories, so what? He wouldn't risk it to let the information get to Snape. Harry couldn't get rid of the nagging feeling that Dumbledore would let Snape know if he thought it necessary, he had also given Harry hints. Conniving old man. He didn't break a promise, but information flowed, nonetheless. Sometimes, Harry thought that Dumbledore knew too much for their all good. It was unsettling that the headmaster seemingly knew almost everything, that he controlled and nudged people in directions, but never too obviously; almost like one imagined a god would do. Dumbledore a god? Yes, a sugar-addicted, twinkle-eyed god. How very disturbing.

Harry couldn't believe that he had let it slip that he could have get sorted into Slytherin, to Snape of all people, no less.

'Brilliant,' he praised himself, ironically. 'Bloody brilliant.'

Snape had waited till Potter was out of sight, scowling fiercely. How dare that daft brat walk around like he owned the place? How dare he talk back to him? And how dare he have enough Slytherin traits to be considered into HIS house?!

Snape propped himself up against the cool wall as he was overcome with dizziness.

"No," he protested, weakly, before he went back into his teen years.

Eleven years old and far too many eyes resting on him. Severus shifted uncomfortably and prayed that the Sorting would be over soon. The trip with the Hogwarts Express alone had been hell, already had he make fiends with Black, Potter and Lupin. What a promising start. Black, Lupin and Potter got sorted into Gryffindor. Shouldn't they be the nice guys? How could these bullies have Gryffindor traits then? Finally, it was Snape's turn for the Sorting.

'Ah,' the voice said inside Severus' head. 'Severus Snape. Much to do. Much to see. Much to change, too. You have a brave and courageous heart and will do good. Why not put you into Gryffindor ...'

'NO!' Snape screamed, noiseless. He couldn't get into the same house as Black and Potter, he wouldn't survive. 'Not Gryffindor! Everywhere but Gryffindor! Please! Ravenclaw or Slytherin, even Hufflepuff. Wait, forget about Hufflepuff ...'

'I see,' the voice seemed to chuckle. 'You seem to know what you want, don't you? You are a survivor and will adept perfectly wherever I put you. You will do good, even though I put you into ...'

"SLYTHERIN!"


	12. Lightning The Darkness

A/N: Many stupid, illogical things occur here, just go with it.

12. Lightening The Darkness

"I have the sinking feeling that there is something more going on in the castle than just the Tarantula Spell," Hermione said in her matter-of-factly voice. "Yesterday in one of the bathrooms, the mirror suddenly exploded. I was standing in front of it and it could have made a lot damage if it hadn't been for ... Professor Dumbledore, how does a wizard become a ghost?" She changed the topic abruptly, but the headmaster didn't seem in the least surprised.

"The chances for becoming a ghost are rather slim," Albus explained, a faint twinkling in his eyes. "A witch or a wizard has to have an anchor in this life which hinders him in getting into the afterlife. Sometimes, they have something left to do. But in the most cases the deceased's soul will leave this world even when he has not everything fulfilled."

"Professor," Hermione said, quietly. "I encountered Draco yesterday as a ... ghost."

"Draco Malfoy? Indeed?"

"Yes. He was the one who protected me. Alas, he vanished before he could tell me why the mirror exploded. He said something that he can't stay materialized in this world for too long full stops."

"Hm. His soul must adapt to the environment, in a few days his slipping should have subsided, I believe."

'-+-+-+-'

Snape still braced himself against the wall for balance. He had never wanted to be reminded of this little fact again. He a Gryffindor? Ha! Was the pope evangelic? Whatever.

Being nearly made a Gryffindor was nothing for Snape to be proud of. It was a secret, the kind of dirty little secret one used to hide between porn and buried corpses in one's closet. Not that Snape had porn to hide in the first place. Or corpses. Or corpses he used for sick pleasures simple porn couldn't provide ...

This was the simple direction his morbid thoughts went when combining his own name and Gryffindor House in one sentence. Nothing good could ever come out of this. Potter was the living example. Thinking of Potter (as if his mere presence at Hogwarts wouldn't be enough already, Snape really had to think about him, too?), Snape couldn't help but wonder how in the name of all Good and Justice he could have been considered a Slytherin. Even if he let all the cunning traits aside, Potter was no pureblood. And Salazar Slytherin prided himself in his pure and untainted house. There was no way the Sorting Hat could have suggested Harry into his house, unless ... Potter lied. It wouldn't be too far-fetched, naturally. But his entire behaviour after he'd slipped the info spoke against this theory. He seemed shocked and angry at himself for acting so Gryffindor, opening mouth before considering the potential consequences.

Harry Potter couldn't have been sorted into Slytherin because he was a half-blood. Wasn't he?

"... Professor?" a voice asked, tentatively, causing Snape to jump surprised and press a hand over his hammering heart, despite all the tentativeness. Severus paled slightly more as he recognised the ghost floating in front of him.

"If it weren't such a serious situation, I'd say you look as though you've just seen a ghost, sir," Draco drawled, a faint smirk tugging on the etches of his lips. His arms were crossed in front of his lithe chest, giving almost the impression that he was still the same old (and same living) Prince of Slytherin. Weren't it for the facts that he was half luminescent, faintly glowing blue, floating above the ground and carrying a cool aura around him, that was.

"Mr. Malfoy," Snape tried to sound sternly, after his heartbeat was back to a healthier rhythm. "I am glad to see that you managed to obtain your personal traits even after your early demise ..." his voice petered out, unsure. Should he give his condolences?

"Sir?" Draco's voice rescued Severus from his misery. "There is a reason why I am here and I think we should head to the headmaster's office."

'-+-+-+-'

There was no real time of a reunion for Hermione and Draco this time as they saw each other. Hermione had been in the process of leaving to search for Harry and to begin the training for the spell that would take out the wards, as Snape and Draco arrived in Dumbledore's office. And after Draco had said his first sentence, every occupant, who hadn't been sitting at the moment, collapsed into the next available chair.

"Voldemort will strike soon."

"WHAT?" Hermione cried shocked, gripping the edges of her chair so tightly that her knuckles turned white and her nails drew splinters.

"Don't say his name," Severus hissed, automatically. It wasn't as if he feared his name, that had never been the reason behind his antipathy against 'Voldemort'. It was solely that Snape always feared that Voldemort might have the same gift as he himself. Would he know if someone uttered his name? Would he know that Snape worked against him? Fear nagged at him from the insides.

"He is back?" Dumbledore asked quietly, not a trace of a twinkle in his eyes, as Snape merely sat completely still.

"He was never gone," Draco replied, faintly floating back and forth.

"H-he can't be alive," Hermione said. "Harry killed him!" Snape didn't object, this was not the time to gloat.

"Draco?" Dumbledore redirected Malfoy's attention back. "Please tell us what you know so we shall decide on a turn of action."

Draco nodded shortly and began. "I died by the hands of some random Death Eater, unbelievable, I don't even know who the bloody- sorry. The point is that I died, but I knew something was wrong because I couldn't move. I was still somehow trapped in here, even without my body I couldn't cross the wards. I could see everything going on around me, but I couldn't interfere. It was as if I was under a full body binding spell, even though I could move. I tried for the last days to make contact but it was too hard - it was so frustrating! - well now it worked." Draco shuffled his hair slightly with one hand and shot a glance towards Snape. He knew how Voldemort had died, but this was not his secret to spill. "I read the article about the Tarantula Spell. It said that the powerful wizard would be stripped from great parts of his magic. These are the repercussions. Voldemort did it on purpose, he knew he'd surely die, to both trap us here for enough time and become a ghost without raising too many suspicions. He killed the Bloody Baron and is now Slytherin's Houseghost. Actually, a simple plan. But it worked, didn't it? It was too easy, way too easy to kill someone as powerful as Voldemort. He had let himself get killed. This was the whole idea behind. Of course, it was a trap! Why hadn't anybody thought about this before?"

"Because his Death Eaters had been vulnerable to the Light afterwards," Snape said, quietly. He himself hadn't wasted one second to doubt that Voldemort indeed was dead and buried somewhere in one of Hogwarts' empty classrooms. His joyous pseudo-victory over his master had diminished his thoughts to a minimum. How could this have happened? He WAS a Slytherin for Salazar's snake's sake! A Slytherin that could have ended in Gryffindor, but a Slytherin nonetheless.

"How Slytherin of him," Draco said flatly, not at all happy with sharing the same house with Voldemort. It was those creatures that gave the word 'Slytherin' this bad aftertaste. "No sacrifice is too big for his goal."

"And his sole goal is ..." Hermione said slowly, recognition downing on her, "... Harry."

"There's no way Harry can kill Voldemort as a ghost."

'-+-+-+-'

"OPEN THE BLOODY DOOR THIS INSTANCE!" Ron yelled, banging against the wooden entrance to the 7th year boys' dorm. "I AM NOT PLEASED AT ALL!"

Harry didn't even seem to hear the screaming. He was paralysed, standing in the middle of the Gryffindor Common Room. His eyes were fixed upon the sinisterly smirking ghost floating mere meters in front of him. Any possible spectator would have said that Harry was part of the furniture, or somehow rooted to the floor. But unfortunately, the only possible spectator was one unnamed 1st year Gryffindor who would not say anything anymore.

"So we finally meet again," Voldemort hissed. "A nice little private party. It reminds me of home," he added, thoughtfully.

"Yeah," Harry managed to utter. His breathing was still ragged, but not due to some kind of exercise. How could he have guessed that after he came back from breakfast to fetch Ron, Voldemort would wait for him in the Common Room? How far-fetched was that? He wasn't a Seer, and Trelawney had not predicted anything in relation to Voldemort. As Harry's brain slowly went back into normal-drive, he registered the whole situation. He was in the Common Room. He was the sole living soul here. The corpse of an innocent mere meters away, who he hadn't managed to save. Voldemort being a ghost, pointing his luminescent wand at him. The circle was drawn closer. Now he couldn't even get out of the Common Room. At least, this also left Ron with no other choice but to stay in the dorm.

"Long time no see," Harry then regained his self-confidence back. "I'd rather it had stayed that way."

"As witty as always, I see," Voldemort tutted, waving his wand-hand disapprovingly. "Didn't your lovely relatives teach you any manners? Oh. I shouldn't have mentioned them. How inconsiderate of me."

Harry bristled visibly and clenched his fists. "You bloody-"

"Temper," Voldemort said, smiling a twisted smile. "It's always the temper the youth lacks these days. I," he then drawled, "wouldn't try this move now." His wand was pointed directly at Harry's head.

Harry grudgingly moved his hand back out of his robes. What to do? His mind wasn't too occupied, it was still a bit frozen. What should he do against a ghost? Even if he had managed to get his wand? Stalling. That was always a good idea. "Why aren't you dead? I mean, you know, dead-dead. The kind that never returned so that the rest of the world can live on in peace?"

Voldemort chuckled, clearly amused. "Now where would be the fun in that? Depriving the society of my precious presence is a crime against society itself, wouldn't you agree?" At the end, there was more malice in his voice.

"Whatever," Harry waved, then cradled his hand closely to his chest, hissing, because Voldemort had cursed it with a boiling spell.

"You are so ungrateful," the Dark Lord hissed, venomously. "Without me you would be nothing! Nobody would care if you lived or died. You wouldn't be special, anymore, and you wouldn't be the Boy-Who-Lived but the Boy-Who-Didn't-Matter! Show some gratitude!"

"Better nobody than nothing," Harry muttered, realizing that Voldemort was indeed far more sick than he'd thought earlier. Did he really believe he did Harry good with his doings? Harry thanked all gods that would listen that he had only to take a glimpse into Snape's mind, one into Voldemort and he'd be a permanent resident at St. Mungo's.

"What? Where's all the Gryffindor braveness? Don't you want to do anything?" Voldemort mocked. "Or are you tired? Would you like to take a break and go soothing your little redheaded friend for the loss of his sister? Or the little mudblood for the loss of her lover?"

"What are you doing?" Harry asked. "Why do you wait? I can't do anything against you. The both of us know that. So why are you waiting?"

"Oh," Voldemort sounded almost disappointed. "Too clever a boy. I wait for the last to arrive."

"The last," Harry repeated, dully.

And then the portrait hole swung open and Snape climbed through it, closely followed by Dumbledore, who didn't get through the barrier.

"Still alive, Potter, I see," Severus growled, lightly, checking quickly if the boy was all right. Then gritting his teeth as his eyes fell upon the dead corpse.

"Disappointed?" Harry asked in return.

"Always."

"Enough with the pleasantries," Voldemort cut in, then casting a glance towards Dumbledore who tried futile charms and spells to counteract the wall in the portrait hole. "Don't even bother," he sneered. "It's a family matter and you are not invited."

Harry made a faint gagging noise. Family? This was not the right time for using such ill-fitting pseudo-phrases. "I'd rather marry the squid than sharing the same family tree with you!"

"Aside from marrying the squid," Severus drawled. "I have to agree with Potter for once."

Voldemort frowned slightly. "But I said you wouldn't get rid of me," he reminded his former Potions Master.

"And here you are. I have eyes and know how to use them."

"Haven't you figured it out yet?" Voldemort asked, his ghostly self even more chilling than his half-human form. "I can't believe you could be so daft, my boy."

'-+-+-+-'

"How is my little darling today?" Danae cooed, rocking her baby gently. "Better, aren't we?" she added smiling, as the baby gurgled happily. Danae smoothed out the soft tufts of hair on her daughter's head, then she planted a gentle kiss on her forehead. So soft was she, as if her skin was covered with silk.

"Petunia, sweetie," she then addressed her second daughter. "Would you hand me Lily's jacket, please? We're going for a walk."

"Sure, Mom," little Petunia replied, handing her mother the tiny jacket. "Can I carry her?"

"Are you sure?" Danae smiled. "Won't you let her drop?"

"No!" Petunia retorted, indignantly. "Lily is sooo light, I won't let her drop. And I'm already four," she added, showing five fingers, "I can hold my sister."

"Right, sweetie. Here you go." Danae watched proudly as Petunia held her little sister securely to her chest, telling her quietly that she didn't need to be afraid because her big sister was watching over her.

The homely domestic bliss didn't last long, though, only a few weeks later it should be over. Danae's father was a man who thought a lot of premonition and divination. He trusted them with his life, and as they told him that he would die by the hands of his own grandson, he needed to react. He ripped his daughter out of her home, leaving her husband to fend alone for their two daughters. Danae's father put her into a secluded tower. Danae couldn't believe what was happening at first. She hadn't done anything wrong, had she? Why would her own father fall back on such drastic measures like imprisoning his own flesh and blood only because of such a silly premonition? Had one of his experiments finally gone horribly wrong and caused his mind to shut down?

All those questions swirled around in Danae's head as the redheaded woman sat on her bed, staring off into space. She longed for her man, his warm embrace, his reassuring words. She wanted to see her daughters again. Their smile was everything Danae needed to feel elated again, being able to forget every dark thought in her life. But it was not to be, as Danae stared out of the small window.

She wished she had told her man everything, told him who she really was. How would he react when their daughters suddenly would develop magical powers and receive their Hogwarts letters? Danae held little hope of being able to watch for herself how her precious daughters would grow. Lily was just a baby, she probably wouldn't even recall her at all. And Petunia ... Danae missed her so much, but at the same time, she hoped that she would tell Lily everything about her. Petunia was the only person in her own family who knew that Danae was a witch. She had told her daughter various stories of her life, but she wasn't sure if Petunia really believed them. Danae hoped so.

Time crept by slowly; at least for Danae. She wasn't exactly sure how many days had passed, isolated in her lonely tower. Food had never been a problem, though, as she knew that her father himself was also a wizard, and as such he had his ways to let meals appear magically in the cold room. The water in her tiny bathroom, though, was not quite so cool, fortunately, otherwise she would have died from hypothermia a while ago.

It seemed a day as any other before, as Danae woke early to the sound of faintly bird twittering. They sang from the pretty things of life, of freedom, of joy, of hope, of love. But for Danae the birds' song sounded so utterly sad that it forced tears to her eyes.

Suddenly, Danae had to shield her eyes from a sudden brightness, which didn't seem to come from the sun. So early in the day the sun couldn't possibly stand so high. Danae glanced towards the window and blinked. Twice. There was a delicate branch laburnum growing into the tower. The leaves glowed brightly, so intensive as if they were made of pure gold, pouring down. As the common parlance said 'gold-rain'. Danae couldn't help but be mesmerized by its beauty, she didn't bother to ask herself how the tree could have grown so rapidly during the night, she didn't bother to ask herself how such a tree could have grown so much in the first place, as her prison was so high in the air that no plant could reach it.

And then, the leaves suddenly exploded into a gently rain, spraying golden sparks all over Danae, enveloping her. Danae wasn't afraid, which was odd in itself, but Danae herself couldn't feel more natural. It felt so right, she felt so warm, being covered in a blanket made of gold, soaking into her skin. Her heart felt at ease, it felt elated, she felt weird and she felt ... loved.

And in the next moment, it was over, and all what was left, was a strange tingling sensation in Danae's stomach. A tingling she was just all too familiar with.

Danae's father was understandably not too pleased with the development of the events. What should he do more? He already had his daughter imprisoned in a secluded tower, but even there she had gotten pregnant. Sometimes, he cursed the fact that they were wizards, it made everything so much more difficult. And it wasn't worth the effort. Nothing was. He wouldn't die by the hands of his own grandson. He wouldn't die at all. For he would be immortal. And to regain this goal he would do anything, he would sacrifice anything necessary. Even his daughter. A daughter he never wanted in the first place. A problem he would take care of, once and for all.

Danae and her unborn child wouldn't have survived if it hadn't been for the protecting hand that was shielding them from every evil. The wooden box Danae was trapped in was even tinier and more uncomfortable than the tower she had been, and the rocking motions weren't soothing in the least, as the make-shift boot slashed through the cruel river. Silent tears ran over her cheeks as she stroked her stomach tenderly. She wouldn't waste time for prayers to non-existing gods, she knew in her heart that she wouldn't survive this trip. But thankfully she was wrong.

How could her own father try to kill her in such a terrible way? Confined in a suffocating wood-box, thrown into the rushing stream. He didn't care, if she would choke to death or drown. All he cared for was that she and more importantly her unborn son was dead in the end. So heartless, so cold and calculating. Was this really the same man Danae had worshipped as a small girl? Well, a child couldn't quite grasp the personality of one's parent. In their eyes their fathers and mothers could do no wrong, they were perfect. Perfect.

Days later, Danae's box stranded on an empty beach. It was a miracle for her that neither she nor her unborn child had been harmed. The same kind of miracle that had impregnated her in the first place. But all the strange things happened to witches, so she didn't bother questioning her state. All that mattered was that she was alive and that her son (she hadn't any doubt that it would be a son, for why else would her father had taken up such drastic measures?) would be born into a world where he would be welcome. Yes, a world where he was welcome, but where he most likely wouldn't have any siblings. Petunia, Lily. Danae's heart ached for them, but for the sake of them and for the sake of her son, she wouldn't return. She would do anything within her power to ensure all of them happiness, even though in this doing her own happiness would be mostly denied.

Fortuna meant good for her, one last time. The brothers Diktys and Polydektes Snape took her in. Diktys married her, raised Danae's son as his own. Diktys never knew who the boy's father was, Danae never told anyone of the miraculous circumstances he had been conceived. Even why Danae had been shipping through the cold river had never been a question. Danae and Diktys had been happy, well, as happy as Danae could get anyway with missing her 'real' husband and her daughters, but her life went on and its sometimes cruel routes managed nothing but strengthened her. She needed to live, for her man, for herself, but most of all for her son. A newborn boy was always innocent and shouldn't be put down with the weight of problems even Danae found hard to bear. He was as light as he could be, cut off all ties of a past he never knew he had, unknowingly being deprived of his genuine name. Severus Snape. Never known as Perseus Evans.

By the time Severus turned seven, fate again decided to turn things to worse. Diktys died, leaving Danae and his adopted son behind. They had nothing left, their hands were bare and they were forced to look the next morning proudly into its ugly face. But as it was common in these late days, Polydektes saw himself forced to look after his brother's widow and her son. He wasn't all too pleased about that, of course, as he would have liked all for himself. Many had wondered in hushed voices how Diktys and Polydektes could have possibly been brothers, so differently they were. Where Diktys had been gentle and sensible, Polydektes was rough and cruel. The traits hadn't been shared fair amongst them. And the sudden change of 'Snape's' attitude had left their scars on both Danae and Severus.

Danae's father knew nothing of the survival of his daughter and her son for a long time. It was only many years later, as this man came to him, writhing in long-denied weakness, seeking for long-denied power, that Tom Riddle knew his grandson was alive.

A/N: How could Tom Riddle be Snape's grandfather? He must be too young. Yes. Maybe he is in fact older but rejuvenated himself and went twice to Hogwarts? Please try to just ignore the fact that it's absolutely impossible ... But maybe Tom fathered Danae with 8 and Danae got pregnant very early ...


	13. Don't You Cry

13. Don't You Cry

It was still too early for Madam Pince, therefore the library was still closed. A simple "Alohomora" wouldn't do the trick and so Draco flew through the door and opened it from the inside, letting Hermione through.

"Where are you going?" Hermione asked bewildered as Draco flew to the restricted section of the Dark Arts.

"Where do you think I'm going?"

"The Dark Arts?" she said, incredulously.

"10 points to Gryffindor," Draco said, sarcastically. "Where else do you think we should be searching?"

"I- in the- well, of course-"

"The Dark Arts. We have to find a spell to kill a ghost, a soul. This is dark magic at its finest. We won't find it in the Spell For Every Occasion Volume II."

Hermione bristled visibly. "I didn't say-"

"We don't have time for this, you know," Draco said, floating into the first rows. He flew right through the middle of the first rack, reading the indexes while doing so. "We'll have to destroy Voldemort's soul for once and for all. He mustn't come back. This is Potter's only chance."

Hermione looked still undetermined, but then she made up her mind. "Right."

Snape trembled as it was over. Too many images had went past his inner eye in too little time. It was still fresh in his mind, the pictures bright and vivid, as if it only happened the other day.

He laughed quietly, suddenly. Voldemort really had the nerve. Who knew what the bastard could do as a ghost? This last 'vision', and when Snape thought about it, all the ones before, could have been easily caused by Voldemort. Even if the last memories were indeed that, memories of his own, this didn't say anything against the possibility that this last one was fake. There could be no way that he was related to both Voldemort and the Potter boy. Sick bastard and his sick little mind games. Severus was so tired of this. He was too close to his breaking point, but he wouldn't allow the Dark Lord to push him over the edge.

It was most likely untrue. After all, the first memories had been his own, but the last one had been from his mother. How should he know if this was truth or lie? It wasn't as if he could ask her.

"Do you understand it now?" Voldemort asked. "Do you see the whole picture? After I'm finished with you, I will see to it that Harry," he smirked towards the confused boy, "shall know the truth. If I told him beforehand, it would spoil the entire fun, wouldn't you agree?"

"What picture?" Harry asked, turning his gaze from Voldemort to Snape and back. There was something going on he should not know about; and that angered him to no end. They talked about him as if he wasn't there. "You being a ghost totally froze your brain over?" The light was faster than the sound. This was the reason why Harry first felt the Crucio, and then heard the ghost say the curse. His mind froze, not in ice but in pain, as hundreds of needles pierced his skin and shot through his whole body.

"Watch your tongue," Voldemort hissed, his wand trembling slightly. "Or I shall not be so generous the next time, boy."

Severus had drawn his wand and pointed it now at his former master. Potter's resistance against the Cruciatus Curse was enormous; he hadn't even fallen to his knees or screamed. The only sign that he had indeed felt the pain had been his clenched fists and the tight line of his lips.

"What will you do?" Voldemort asked, mocking his Potions Master. "Kill me? Ha. I'm a ghost, you can't do that!" He floated a bit closer, squinting his eyes, thoughtfully. "You don't believe me, do you? You think it was only part of this last curse. But it is the truth. I know you can feel it. It was your own potion. I was only the trigger to help you create it. You should be thankful."

"Thankful," Snape spat. "Indeed. I am grateful that you are finally dead. And that you shall be gone soon, I am even more grateful for."

"It is as I said," Voldemort chuckled. "You will never be rid of me."

And Snape could hear the end of the sentence, as if the Dark Lord had said it out loud. 'I am in your blood, my son. We are of one kind.' But that wasn't true! Snape was nothing like Voldemort! Various stages of madness, yes, but there was a huge difference between the two of them. Severus did have potential, but he wouldn't use it in the direction Riddle had taken so long ago. One wrong lane didn't seal your fate on the wrong side of the table, not if you chose to turn around and take the way back. It was longer, it was harder, but it was satisfyingly right.

"I suppose someone forgot to tell me that today is ghost party or something," Harry mumbled, wide-eyed, as Draco's body floated through the barrier at the portrait hole. Hermione couldn't get through it, as Dumbledore, who still tried to find a way to work around it. It was odd, now that he saw it. It was rather logical that ghosts could pass through his wards. But why did Snape get through, but Hermione and Dumbledore not? Harry guessed that Voldemort had still an account to settle with Snape and therefore made the wards that only he and the Professor could get through.

"Diffindo," Snape cried, shooting a curse at the ghostly Voldemort to distract him from Draco. The Dark Lord split in half, falling half to the ground like a leaf in the wind. But then his parts were pulled together by a invisible power, sealing the split shut again.

"My," Voldemort chuckled. "Convenient, wouldn't you say?"

Snape only gritted his teeth and prepared the next curse. Thankfully, Draco's form had vanished from sight again. He wasn't stable enough, but that came in handy right now, as only his voice was really needed to inform Harry which curse he should use to destroy Voldemort's soul. "Locomotor Mortis."

"I don't need my feet."

While Snape hexed Voldemort more or less effectively, Harry listened to Draco explaining him how the Soul Extinguishing Spell worked and what he needed to do in order to get finally and this time really rid of Voldemort. It was a dark spell, but Harry didn't mind. He had already mastered a rather wide range of dark spells for the final battle. One more wouldn't cause his mental breakdown or his stability. If it meant that it would be over, that was.

Harry collected his magic slowly. The two days after the magic donation were over, but he still felt not as full as before. Hopefully, it would be enough.

"The playtime's over," Harry said quietly. His voice was more mature than ever before, far too old for his age. "As is your time, Voldemort."

"Was that a pun? Sorry I didn't laugh." The Dark Lord shot a Crucio at Snape, too fast to move out of the way or do anything else but hope that it would be over soon. "I'll deal with you later."

"Harry," Voldemort shook his head. "Why do you have to be so stubborn? You cannot win. You know that. Why don't you just be a good boy and die? Or better yet: Why don't you join me? You are a quite powerful wizard and together we could accomplish all that we want. Think about it. All you ever dreamed of is waiting for you."

Harry shook his head slightly. "You can't give me anything that I would want, Voldemort." And with that, he pointed his wand at an amused ghost and muttered the two words that would end this afterlife.

Voldemort had always been far too self-confident. He didn't see the threat as what it was; his downfall. His second, his last, his absolutely not planned downfall.

One day later, Hermione and a couple of other students were able to put down the Tarantula wards, freeing the Hogwarts students and half of the British Wizarding World, as well.

After the Bloody Baron's lately demise (which was a much discussed term), Draco became Slytherin's house-ghost. He even finished his last school year and got nearly as many NEWT's as his girlfriend Hermione (she wouldn't have let him do it otherwise).

Severus was in his storeroom and prepared the ingredients for the next class. 7th year Gryffindor and Slytherin; his least favourite class. Potter would be there, and that alone was enough sometimes to wake the need to throw himself from the Astronomy Tower.

Severus wouldn't ... he couldn't ... never!

The potion Snape had brewed these few weeks ago had been a concoction which brought the darkest and deepest secret to the surface among others, as well. He had named it 'Hidden Truth', though he would never sell it. Nobody knew what lurked in one's mind. And if he himself as a Death Eater with lots of dark experiences couldn't handle it, what would a normal witch or wizard do? There was no way Snape would ever let anyone get to that potion.

After his hidden truth had risen, the potion would be his new secret.

Harry Potter was his nephew. This was the ultimate shock. Not that Voldemort was his grandfather, though that was pretty hard, too. But the insufferable Potter brat shared the same blood as he. He who he had been late Lily's brother, even if only half. What a complicated family tree.

The students filed into the room and were immediately shushed by one intimidating scowl from him. And when his eyes fell upon Harry, Severus couldn't help but glare. Harry glared back and a staring contest ensued.

They weren't alike. They were not family. They would never be.

And Severus sure as hell would not shed a tear.

Harry took his seat beside Ron who hadn't been so down anymore in the last time. As his sister was now in the magical portrait the twins had bought, she was at least still there. If not living, but existing.

As Snape tried to stare him down, Harry couldn't but stare back. But his mind was elsewhere. He didn't try to win this little contest. He wondered how Snape could have ever been considered into Gryffindor. And he asked himself what would be different this day if he had been actually put into his house. Would he admit that he had a living family member? Would he be more caring?

It was sad, but also too familiar. All of his family members, as far as he could think back, had hated him. If they had been able to, the Dursleys would have kicked Harry out onto the street the very first day. The mutual disliking had only started to develop after Harry could understand what was going on. He always tried to please them, make them see that he wasn't that bad, wasn't a freak, was worthy of them. But they wouldn't look.

Snape himself had judged Harry the very first day, without even knowing him in the least. Harry didn't care who he was related to; even if this someone was Voldemort, thankfully finally dead Voldemort. His only living blood relative didn't want to give a damn about him.

Harry had waited weeks for Snape to approach him, had even tried to nudge quarrels/conversations into the right direction. Snape hadn't cared.

It was sad, but Harry would not try to change Snape's mind.


	14. Epilogue

A/N: Don't forget to put your E-MAIL in your review if you want the FF Cup results!  
  
Epilogue  
  
"...  
  
I hate her. I hate her so much. She can't come close to grasp even the tiniest fragment of my hatred towards her. Every time that I have to see her stupid face makes me want to retch. Oh, my darling sister, always the bright one, always the pretty one. I CAN'T HELP IT! GOD DAMMIT!!  
  
...  
  
Oh yes! Yes, yes! He likes me, he said he liked me ... dreamy smile ... sigh Yeah, I know, he isn't exactly one Adonis, but he shares the same views as I. He's very nice and - No, there isn't anyone peeking over my shoulder while I write this - he's a really good kisser! squeal  
  
He said he wants to start a family, he likes children ... he's perfect for me!  
  
Does he really have to meet her?  
  
...  
  
Not that I didn't see it coming! How I wish I could, damn ... How I wish I could live as I was supposed to. But not me, no, never me! Damn her! Hex her! F her ... Ha. Note my bitter sarcasm, will you. As if he hadn't already, that cheap slut. Why else would she have to marry at such a young age? She's only a disgrace to our family! ... sob ...  
  
...  
  
But the whole cake incident wasn't that funny at all. Don't know why my - dare I really say so? - husband keeps ranting about it non-stop. Other than that, it was quite a nice wedding ... 'Cept maybe that Mom wasn't there to celebrate with us. I guess, I miss her.  
  
...  
  
God, I swear I never let him get near me again! - That was my thought right after going into labour, but as it came out, I changed my mind and today ... But that's private! Not that anyone would, but there's still a possibility, is there not? Never mind, don't bother answering.  
  
...  
  
Did I mention, I miss her? I can't even remember how she looked, how she smelled. She had to leave, too soon. All because of her being ... No, I can't even write it down. Her 'ancestries'. Ugh! Being what I am, I am not entirely sure whom I loath more. Myself or Lily? Freak! Aren't I ..."  
  
Vernon stared expressionless at the last page of his wife's diary. His mind was blank, as the letters started to blur before his eyes. What was that? Bits and pieces of his life with Petunia, portrayed by her as she still had been living, before- Vernon had never gotten the chance to meet his mother-in-law, as Petunia always hinted that she'd died many years ago. She didn't like to speak about it, so Vernon hadn't pressed the subject. Not that he had cared, in the first place, but Petunia had been his wife, and one should know his wife's mother, shouldn't one? It was just normal to do so. His sister-in-law, Lily, was another story. From the very beginning of their relationship, Petunia had made it crystal clear that Lily was a freak, and that she didn't want to have anything to do with her. Vernon, of course, had complied. He wasn't one for the 'unnatural' or the 'freakish', he was the kind of man who wanted nothing more than a wife, 2.5 children, maybe even a dog, all in a nice house with garden and a plain white fence. Everything out of order not only made him afraid, but also angered him, for he didn't need his neighbours to think he himself was weird, too. Reading the last paragraphs of Petunia's diary again, Vernon wondered what she had tried to say. What where her mother's 'ancestries' and what did she mean by 'freak, aren't I'? It couldn't be as his mind wanted to tell him, the widower thought numbly.  
  
"No." Vernon opened the window in his compartment and threw the tiny book out of the driving train, leaving the last reminder of his lost family behind. "Sleep well."  
  
-Owari-  
  
A/N: Don't forget to put your E-MAIL in your review if you want the FF Cup results!  
  
Kateri1: Thank you for your review 60 points to Ravenclaw. As you saw, no, the fact that they are related will not come out. Both of them know, either knowing that the other knows too, or being oblivious, and it will stay that way. Maybe there'll be a short Sequel, I don't know yet   
  
Nadezhda: Thank you very much! 30 points to you   
  
scythe21: 20 points to Slytherin! I don't care if only ten people read my FF's, as long as those ten like it! Greetings to your friends   
  
Persephone Lupin: Thank you! I believe you that your PC didn't upload the review, but I can't give you more than 15 points ... Not that it matters, anyway Slytherin can't but win! Yep, you did miss the dead of most of the Dursleys. Harry thought about it in the very first chapter and in the first flashback, Voldemort said he 'used their blood to get into Hogwarts' wards', or anything like that. And even if they were alive, Snape wouldn't be Harry's sole wizard relative, as Petunia was a squib sob I don't want Tonks to be Snape's daughter, because it was my very first pairing I read and I absolutely love it heul It's unnerving! But I think she might be, because of her mother (Andromeda - bitte, wie offensichtlich ist das?), but maybe Perseus only refers to him being an orphan ... How long do you think we'll have to wait until we can know for sure? 5 years? You write a new story? mein interesse ist schon geweckt Uh, hast du einen Beta? Wenn nicht (und auch wenn schon), darf ich dir eine sehr wichtige Frage stellen? räusper Darf ich dein Beta sein? Ich gelobe hoch und heilig alle mir auffallenden Fehler nach meinem besten Gewissen zu entfernen, deine Schrift zu ehren und deinen Stil zu bewundern, so wahr mir Merlin helfe hand über brust Ja? Ja? Bitte?  
  
Oh yes, Schwab's 'Die schönsten Sagen des klassischen Altertums', are my favourites! I actually have them right now in reaching range, the Perseus myth is one of the very first and I liked it because it was one of the very few where the hero and the heroine actually stayed together (I think so, at least) Every other myth I remember ends devastating, even though that's not often common knowledge. Take Jason and Medea for example. After the Argonauten journey, they were happy for twenty years or so and then Jason wanted to get rid of her and marry the princess, then she killed their children (and the princess) and became an Erinnye and he killed himself. Penelope married the son of her dead husband Odysseus (she wasn't the mother) But I think Perseus (who was quite a show-off, btw, but he was quite subtle in doing so) and Andromeda stayed together till their end. The sixth book will surly give much more hints about Tonks' parentage.  
  
Okay, I took the hint, so you're 36? It's unbelievable for me that not only teens are reading my fics Es ist ein bisserl komisch, darf ich noch du sagen? Oh, grad hab ich gesehen dass am Donnerstag, 13. Mai Servatius Namenstag hat. Muss wohl mein Glückstag sein 


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